


The Movement

by RosalindsGhost



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Adult Content, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brutality, Colonialism, Cults, F/F, F/M, Guerrilla Warfare, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Historical Inaccuracy, Historical References, Imperialism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Inaccurate Medical Knowledge, Knives, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Medical Procedures, Medical Trauma, Military Science Fiction, NSFW, Near Future, Oral Sex, Racism, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rebellion, Rough Sex, Slow Burn, Speculative fiction, Stabbing, Star Wars AU, The New Cold War, Torture, Violence, War, War Crimes, demisexual!Rey, doomsday preppers, everybody has PTSD, no betas we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:20:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 30,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22555474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosalindsGhost/pseuds/RosalindsGhost
Summary: The third Great Age of Imperialism has begun. The rise of fascist and far-right governments the world over has led to civil war, genocide, violent colonization, slavery and exploitation. These movements operate under the guise of the New Empire of the United Kingdom, and the First Order of the U.U.S.A. Rebel insurgents have risen, but none have prevailed. Poe Dameron and Finn Trooper lead the Resistance Forces in the jungles of Vietnam, defending against the evil First Order troops. Dr. Rey Skywalker, a surgeon for the Red Cross, finds herself caught up in the conflict when she dares to save a young man's life.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Rey
Comments: 87
Kudos: 86





	1. The Dogs Died

**Author's Note:**

> Hi All! 
> 
> I didn't expect to have another story for you all so soon after finishing the last one, but I was suddenly inspired and couldn't help but write this down. It's kind of speculative fiction, set several years in the future on Earth, where far-right governments have taken over the US and UK, and have instigated a third period of global colonization, under the guise of "International Aid." Rey is a surgeon who works for the Red Cross, Poe is a Guatamalan-born former USAF pilot-turned rebel, and Finn is a former child soldier.
> 
> This story will get very dark, it will deal with the harsh realities of war (everybody has PTSD, y'all!), and it will contain lots of inaccurate historical medical information, despite copious research. Hope it interests you!
> 
> Title comes from the movement to found the Red Cross.

The heat is oppressive. Beads of sweat gather on her forehead, dripping down to sting her eyes faster than Rose can dab them away. Irritated, she blinks rapidly to clear the blur, squinting against the harsh light beside her head. Deftly, efficiently, she moves her gloved hands in a repetitive motion, deeply focused on her actions. With a long, slow exhalation which blows hotly back against her mask, she gently closes her patient’s final suture, then ties it off. 

She breathes in, and all hell breaks loose. 

With several loud _bangs_ in quick succession, a swarm of armed men and women burst into the operating suite. Rey freezes, a sharp bolt of alarm _zinging_ up her spine before everything sharpens and illuminates. The itching, humid jungle air ceases to matter, and her vision clarifies to the point where she can track the flight path of a fly that has hitchhiked into the sterile room with the group of filthy, desperate soldiers.

Rey _knows_ they’re desperate – she can smell it. They’re rank with it, and the sharp tang of… _Blood._ Her head snaps up and her uncanny focus zeroes in on a man who is draped between the arms of two of his compatriots. He is horrifically injured, with a – _gunshot?_ – no, puncture wound deep into the meat on the upper right of his chest, and she can hear the quick _patter_ of blood dripping rapidly off his back. He’s barely conscious, and his handsome, dark face is contorted with pain.

As Rey moves, every gun in the room whips up to point at her. “Enough of that!” she snaps, and one or two of the soldiers take a surprised half-step back, but none lowers their gun.

“You’re here for help, yes? For your friend?” she asks, jerking her head toward the injured man.

Warily, a man of average height and stocky build, with dark hair curling wildly in the damp atmosphere, steps forward, his gun trained insistently on her. Like all of the soldiers, he’s wearing a bandana over the lower half of his face, and Rey can’t help but wonder absently if it's as stifling as her medical mask is.

“You the doc?” he asks gruffly, and she’s surprised to hear an American accent.

“Obviously,” she huffs impatiently, “And I’ll help your friend just as soon as you let my anaesthesiologist go with this patient. He’s just had his appendix out, and he needs to be monitored while he wakes up.”

The man’s eyes dart wildly to Paige as she moves to push the gurney out of the O.R., his gun swinging to land on her. “Are you an idiot?” Rey blurts, flinching a little at her own stupid mouth, the thing that gets her into trouble every time, without fail.

The man slowly turns to her, lowering his gun just slightly as he stares at her, his incredulous expression obvious even under the bandana. “Excuse me?” he says, his voice deadly quiet.

“I just said I’ll help your friend, you ass,” she scoffs, inwardly cringing. “It’s clear you and your comrades aren’t familiar with the neutral tenets of my organization, otherwise you wouldn’t have burst in here armed to the teeth.” 

For such a solid man, he moves with a speed that is breathtaking, and before Rey can blink, the muzzle of his rifle is pressed into her temple. Without a thought, she _snaps._ Quicker than the armed man can register, she slaps his gun down out of her face, before kicking it roughly from his grip. “I will not be _threatened_ into helping him!” she snarls, getting right into his face, not acknowledging the sound of a dozen cocking rifles all around her.

A gaze that is frightened and a little pissed off (and a little awed), meets hers head on.

_His eyes are brown,_ she notes.

Rey consciously slows her breathing, locking eyes with him as she steps yieldingly out of his space, “I will help your friend because he needs my help.”

He stares at her for a few moments more, like he can’t quite decide what to make of her. She stares back, defiantly. Her heart is hammering, and she feels pinned by the intensity of his scrutiny, examined in a way she hasn’t been in years. A tiny thrill _shocks_ along the base of her neck. Suddenly, his gaze shifts in a way that is dark, and deep, before he sharply nods his head.

Rey jerks her head at Paige, the anaesthesiologist, who hurriedly pushes the gurney out past the assembled men, clunking through the still-swinging doors beyond them. “You – and you,” she barks, gesturing to two of the soldiers, “Get another gurney from just out there,” she jerks her elbow in the direction of the doors behind her.

“You two,” she addresses the soldiers holding the injured man between them, “Get him up on the gurney the second it’s here. Stabilize his neck if you can.”

She points to the soldier nearest to her O.R nurse, Rose. “Scrub up with me, you’re assisting.”

The bewildered soldier, surprisingly slim and diminutive, lowers their gun slowly, following the young doctor back to the enormous stainless-steel sink to disinfect. Rey quickly sheds her gown, mask, goggles and gloves, shoving them into the biohazard bin. 

“That too,” she insists, indicating the bandana covering the soldier’s face and a stack of surgical masks on the shelf above the sink. She’s moderately surprised when her gambit works, and the soldier casually brushes the fabric to the side by rubbing it against their shrugged shoulder. 

They appear femme, and Rey now notices they have long hair rolled into small, golden, braided buns, to go with their softer looks. Rey watches warily from the corner of her eye, instinctively memorizing the young person’s features.

Rey coolly talks them through the scrub procedure, keeping an ear on the agonized moans of the injured man as they heave him onto the gurney and Rose performs triage. Swiftly, but with her usual proficient attention to detail, she leads the young soldier in gowning and gloving. When they’re done, she pauses for a moment, casually asking, “What’s your name? My job will be easier if I can address you by name.”

“Kay,” comes the shy, feminine reply.

“Thank you, Kay,” Rey murmurs, before elucidating that she and Rose will be intubating the injured man, and Kay will need to pump the bag in order to keep oxygen flowing into his lungs at a steady pace.

As the young doctor calmly describes what needs to be done, walking rapidly to the side of the now-unconscious soldier, Paige slips back in and begins to scrub up again as well. In mere moments, they have the young man intubated and hooked up to pulse and blood pressure monitors. She assesses his shoulder injury, and quickly determines that, though deeply penetrative, whatever blade pierced his flesh had miraculously missed anything vital.

Rose had strapped a cervical collar around the man’s neck, knowing that they’ll need to keep his spine as steady as possible while they examine his back. “Turn him over now, please,” she instructs his observant brethren, “As gently as you can.”

Rey catches a single glimpse of the injury on his back, and her mind immediately purifies into the singular crystallized _need_ to save this man. It has happened to her only a few times before, but every time it does, Rey plunges deep into the _divine_ focus, allowing herself to run on pure instinct as time stops and sounds fade around her into one protracted moment of distilled single-mindedness. 

When Rey blinks back into awareness, shakily dropping her tools and taking a halting step back, she knows by the quality of the light in the room that several hours have passed. Sound creeps slowly back in as she gazes numbly around her. Most of the assembled soldiers are huddled in exhausted heaps on the floor of her operating room, and with a small jolt, she realizes the only person awake other than the lookouts and her medical team is the man she yelled at so thoughtlessly earlier. He sits on the floor with the others, but is watching her every move. His contemplation of her is almost unchanged since the last time she looked at him, and she shivers a little as the room tilts just slightly around her.

For a second, the man jerks like he wants to reach out and steady her, but she finds her feet before he can move. Instead, he stands warily, his movements almost feline in their fluidity. He stops at his soldier’s bedside. “He’s stable?” he asks, voice rough like he hasn’t had a sip of water in many hours.

“He’ll live,” she rasps back, equally dry. 

The masked man nods sharply again, then moves to tug the injured man up. Both Rey and Rose lunge for him, bellowing at him to stop. He freezes but doesn’t move away. “Why.”

It isn’t really a question.

“You can’t move him yet,” Rey asserts, “He’ll die if he’s not given proper post-operative care!”

The man jerks his arm out of the young doctor’s grip. “You don’t understand,” he growls. “We can’t stay any longer. We’ve been here too long already. If the First Order finds us here, then they’ll _slaughter_ you _all._ There’s no choice.”

Swiftly, she clasps his forearm again as he reaches for the soldier, tightening her grip to the point of bruising. He glances up at her in surprise, clearly taken aback that there’s so much strength in her deceptively slim limbs. “Then I’m coming with you. I won’t let this man die.”

He stares at her in silence for so long that she opens her mouth to begin arguing her case. Before she can get a word out, though, he cuts her off. “Fine,” he says, blowing the word out like a deflating balloon. “You have fifteen minutes to prep him for travel.”


	2. There's Nothing We Could Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poe isn't happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: a character is forcibly restrained and threatened with a blindfold.

Nothing is going according to plan. 

It is by no means a feeling he is unfamiliar with, but nonetheless, Poe _hates_ it when the situation is out of his control. Somehow, in the past twenty-four hours, he has seen the near-mortal wounding of his best friend, after which he witnessed the miraculous, life-saving surgery he’d undergone, and then obtained not just a tagalong doctor, but her O.R. nurse had insisted on coming as well.

How in the hell is he supposed to deal with that?

Though it would have been hard for any but his closest companions to recognize, Poe had been nearly manic with anxiety when Black Squad had dragged Finn back from a routine recon covered in his own blood and gore, barely conscious. Kaydel had rapidly plotted the fastest course for them to make it to the Red Cross outpost on the edge of Lai Chau City. With no objection, Poe and his team departed immediately. He knew, deep in his soul that he’d put his team at risk, that he was putting them all at risk, but he couldn’t bring himself to let his best friend go.

Despite his panic, Poe had had enough sense to establish a perimeter and send scouts ahead to the tiny medical outpost. Consequently, they’d managed to take the surgical team entirely by surprise just as they were finishing up an appendectomy. He’d been in for the surprise of his life with the trauma surgeon. She was quite tall, almost as tall as Poe himself, and she’d been absolutely fearless in the face of a dozen or more armed soldiers.

The former pilot had been completely transfixed from the moment she pushed back at him, her courage filling the room as she took away his control of the situation with nothing more than a few choice words and some fancy footwork. He’d tracked her every movement as a sort of trancelike focus came over her, and she’d dived into Finn’s injuries like saving his life might actually be possible. The sheer expertise she’d demonstrated, mixed with her passionate effort to save his friend had left him – a battle-scarred veteran since his teens – unable to do anything more than watch the way strands of her brown hair curled into tighter and tighter spirals as she worked so tirelessly to save a man he considers family.

Now, she’s walking quietly behind him, her feet making no noise in the leaves and decay that litter the forest floor. She’s closely monitoring Finn’s condition, who’s been strapped down to a spinal board so they can portage him through the steaming, dripping heat of the jungle. Despite decades of battle-hardened instinct, Poe can’t help but glance back at her, as though he’s a compass and she’s magnetic north. 

Since the moment he met her, his gaze has been _drawn_ to this enigmatic young woman. Emphasis on young. When she’d ripped off her surgical mask to prep Finn for transport, he’d been utterly shocked at how painfully _youthful_ she looked. Despite her scary single-mindedness and obvious competence, Poe wouldn’t have pegged her age at more than thirty.

She’s been… Unexpected. In a lot of ways. When they’d crashed into her surgical suite with an arsenal and an injured man, he’d expected to have to bully the medical team into providing care for his friend, not to be intimidated and cowed by the achingly young head of said medical team. Contrary to Poe’s expectations, this young woman had been blazing with righteousness since the second they’d burst in on her.

As he watches out of the corner of his eye, she murmurs quietly to the _equally_ young nurse while they trek through the trees. Abruptly, her striking hazel eyes – _those eyes are so much older than her years,_ he thinks – flash up to meet his. She’s well aware that he’s keeping an eye on her. The doctor’s sharp, no question.

Poe tries to turn his attention back to the nearly non-existent path before him, but he keeps finding his eye drawn back to her. She hasn’t offered her name, and he hasn’t asked. It’ll be better for all involved in the fucked-up situation if no one gets too friendly. Chances are, they’ll have their two unwanted guests for a fortnight at most – just long enough for Finn to recover to a point where they no longer need her.

He’s intently watching the way the dappled sunlight that filters through the canopy picks out the freckles on her ivory skin and the red in her chestnut hair, when he misses a step. Almost faster than he can register, a slim, surprisingly strong arm catches him by the strap of his body armour and hauls him back upright. Clearly, she misjudges his weight, because he ends up stumbling directly into her space.

Their eyes only meet for a split-second, but Poe feels the moment stretch out indefinitely. He’s powerless under her sudden scrutiny, and though she releases him faster than if his flak vest had somehow burned her, he finds himself reeling. A heart-pounding, palm-dampening sensation akin to riding a roller coaster – thrilling and terrifying at once – has utterly overtaken his body. 

The moment is over almost before it began, and all of his senses flood back as he dizzily tries to regain his equilibrium. A short, almost involuntary headshake later, his mind is once again clear, and he turns to lead them deeper into the swampy thicket of trees. They bypass a small, musical-sounding brook to the south, and a feeling of helpless nostalgia overtakes him, as it often does in this country – so like and yet unlike the country of his childhood. 

Presently, senses on high alert, he signals for the group to stop. Despite their relatively quiet passage through the trees, it becomes truly silent when they halt. Poe uses the break in sound as an opportunity to listen for any pursuit. Luckily, the ambient jungle noise quickly filters back in to replace the noise of their group, and he slowly exhales in quiet relief. 

With a great reticence that he hopes isn’t too obvious, he turns to their two… guests. “You’ll have to wear blindfolds from here on out,” he says evenly.

As he feared, the doctor immediately objects, her north London accent crisp in the humid air. “That’s ridiculous!” she snarls, “Haven’t we proven to you that we can be trusted? We only want to help!”

Poe’s attention flicks minutely to either side of the young doctor, and before she can do anything, two of his soldiers have seized her and the nurse. More bandanas are produced as improvised blindfolds. The nurse seems pretty willing to go along quietly, but it’s almost as though the doctor _explodes._

With a vicious _jerk,_ she slams the back of her head into the face of the man holding her, instantly breaking his nose. The man stumbles back with a howl of pain, the bandana covering his features quickly soaking through with blood. The doctor drops into a distinctive defensive stance. It sparks a faint recognition in Poe, much the way it had when she’d so suddenly disarmed him in the O.R.

 _She’s been trained,_ he manages to think before three soldiers throw themselves at her, bringing her down with sheer bulk while she fights like a wildcat.

Poe leans down to look her in the face, hoping to possibly reason with her, but stops when he gets a good look at her. The pure, animal _fear_ he sees in her expression pierces through him like hot shrapnel. 

“ _Stop!_ ” he whispers dangerously.

Simultaneously, all three of his men freeze to look at him, but he’s already moving to rip them off of her. She hunches immediately back into her fighting form, and Poe throws up his hands, palms out to show he’s not armed. Slowly she relaxes, her limbs twitching with fatigue, holding his gaze with unerring intensity. Cautiously, he approaches her. 

Stopping just outside her immediate reach, he says lowly, so quietly that she’s the only one who’ll hear: “Blindfolds? Or was it being held down?”

She’s breathing rapidly, almost hyperventilating.

“Blindfolds,” she says, baldly.

Poe’s taken aback, much like he is every time this young woman speaks.

He straightens suddenly, attention snapping to his soldiers. “No blindfolds,” he orders softly, calmly. 

They hesitate, watching him warily.

“Did I stutter?” he asks.

Like the well-trained militia he’d thought they were, they jump to attention and release both the nurse and the doctor to walk freely, unbound and sight unobscured. With a short nod, muscles jumping in his jaw, he turns on his heel to lead them out of the clearing. He notes with satisfaction the flurry of low sound as they immediately fall in behind him.

They’ve been walking for another ten minutes when the doctor places a gentle hand on his shoulder, bolts of electricity shooting up his spine as she leans forward to speak lowly in his ear, breath dancing across his skin. “Thank you,” she says.


	3. Every Single Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey's tired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for swearing in this chapter. We're dealing with a bunch of soldiers, here. They don't mince words.

The green expanse of jungle blurs heavily in the late afternoon heat. The teeming buzz of flies and the far-off calls of langurs in the distance is fading in and out like a badly tuned radio. Rey is completely exhausted, though she’d never admit it to anyone but Rose. A quick, muzzy glance at her watch confirms that she’s now been awake for around… forty-seven hours. Her head pounds in the muggy air, and despite her best efforts, she’s begun to stumble occasionally.

At some point earlier, (and honestly, Rey isn’t sure how much earlier – time is beginning to lose all meaning), Rose had literally fallen asleep standing up. To the doctor’s unending surprise, the man who is clearly the leader of this little rebel band had coaxed the half-asleep nurse gently onto his back, piggyback style. They had returned to their journey with businesslike efficiency and no comment.

Rose’s limp form, draped incongruously over the man’s broad back, becomes the signpost by which she navigates as the symptoms of sleep deprivation begin to set in. She’s so overtired that her brain only has room for three thoughts. First, the clockwork monitoring of the injured soldier’s vitals. To the intense amazement of everyone in the rag-tag band (including Rey herself) he is still stable and clearly battling fiercely for his life.

Secondly, she concentrates on putting one foot in front of the other. It’s highly unlikely that she’ll have the same luxury as her friend – she doubts that another one of the soldiers will be willing to carry the young doctor on their back. Therefore, she has no choice but to power through. She’s been through worse. Further to that, there’s no way she’ll show any kind of weakness, exhausted or not, to an armed group of people she has no reason to trust.

And that’s the third thought her mind is stuck on. In a very real, very terrifying way, she’s trusted her life and the life of her friend to their leader. They’ve barely spoken to each other – and most of those few words were spat in anger, by Rey – but her instincts are screaming at her to trust him. Which is something that has only occurred once before in her short, eventful (for lack of a better word) life. It scares the ever-loving _shit_ out of her. Yet _everything_ in her tells her he can be trusted. So, she observes his every move. She needs to know why her finely-honed reflexes are blatantly contradicting every sign that she’s gotten from this man.

He had threatened her with a gun. He’d led more than a dozen armed men and women into her O.R. The man had even tried to remove her patient without any kind of medical support!

_He’s given you other signs._

The thought crosses her mind like mist over the Thames. 

Had he? Had he given her other signs? She catalogues snapshots of their interactions with her tired brain. A flash of deep concern and fear for the injured soldier. The way he’d done his best to protect not just his people, but hers, knowing that the longer he stayed, the higher the risk posed to her medical team. The fact that none of what Rey had said or done to him had provoked violence, or even any real anger.

He’s carrying her exhausted friend up a mountain.

He’d recognized her panic for what it was.

He hadn’t made them wear blindfolds.

She can still sense the panic lurking at the base of her neck, threatening to tighten into bands around her chest and pumping enough adrenaline into her system that she’s able to keep walking despite her fatigue. It’s muted, though, the anxiety reduced to simmering below the surface because he’d _seen_ her. 

_He’d seen her._

A faint note of disbelief floats to the top of her mind at that thought. This stranger – a man she’s never spoken to, who, in all sense she should be terrified of – had read her emotional state with a single look. He hadn’t used that knowledge to hurt her but _protect_ her. Why would he protect her?

Other than her medical ability, she isn’t really useful to them, and her usefulness is certainly not reliant on her being calm or even conscious when they eventually arrive at their – camp? At this point, she might be more of a hinderance than anything, and she wouldn’t have put it past another man to let his soldiers blindfold her just because she’d stood up to him. Nor does _he_ have any reason to trust _her._ Yet here they are, both willingly working together despite all signs that they shouldn’t.

Rey’s so completely lost in her contemplation of the man in front of her that she almost runs into him when he suddenly stops. As she stumbles back to avoid a collision, she glances up, and then has to look up a second time, stopping to stare in awe. They’ve walked out through a gap in the dense trees. Spread out before them, seemingly constructed out of stones from the mountain and hidden deep in the dense jungle canopy is an enormous, clearly ancient citadel. 

Buzzing with intense activity, the outer ramparts are bristling with armed troops. Motorcycles heavily packed with supplies and soldiers laden with weapons pass through the closely guarded gate in an orderly fashion. The scale is so far beyond anything Rey had imagined, and she’s absolutely arrested by the sight before her. She’s literally struggling to comprehend the information her eyes are translating to her brain.

A gentle nudge to her shoulder snaps her out of her reverie. “Let’s get these two to medical,” the man she’s mentally assigned the Leader prompts gently. 

Determinedly holding back a weary yawn, Rey nods her head towards him, indicating that she’ll follow his lead. The three of them and the two soldiers bearing their comrade split off from the main group, and hurry toward the gate. To the young doctor’s surprise and curiosity, they aren’t stopped or searched at the entrance. Instead, each person steps aside at a short, sharp nod from the man still carrying her sleeping O.R. nurse.

Now, she’s beginning to feel truly nervous for the first time since she was taken by surprise after an emergency appendectomy. They pass through another set of ramparts before they arrive at the citadel itself. It’s a rectangular cluster of structures built from cut stone, the largest of which appears to be built directly into the side of the mountain. The sun glances off the red-tiled roofs, highlighting the way the jungle has fought hard to reclaim the land the citadel stands on. Their little group similarly meets no resistance while entering the first fortified building. Once inside, they take a sharp left into what can only be Medical.

Again, Rey is fairly flabbergasted. The somewhat rough stone room has been transformed with all sorts of grafted combat emergency tech, well-sterilized and equipped with a small treatment and recovery area. Around a corner the room extends to include several tidy cots for long-term recovery. “Hey, Kolonia,” the Leader calls as he gently deposits Rose onto one of the cots.

The two soldiers conveying the injured man are carefully moving him towards the main gurney, and Rey hurries to supervise as a somewhat rough, older voice calls out from a corner of the room she hadn’t noticed before. Levering herself slowly out of a rolling desk chair that has seen better days is an older middle-aged woman who looks like she has more grit than a gravel road. 

“Christ, General, you made it back!” she barks, then does a double take as she sees Rey and the heavily injured man. 

“Finn’s still alive?” she gasps, suddenly rushing over to assist in the transfer from spine board to gurney.

Rey’s gaze flicks over the older woman, assessing her skills and experience in a split-second. The other woman – Kolonia? – is clearly trained in emergency medicine, but it’s unlikely she’s a surgeon. Rey would bet her licence that she’s an EMT, possibly was also a combat medic, but something about her said 'civilian.'

“And who the fuck are you?” she says aggressively, clearly noticing Rey’s scrutiny.

“She’s the Red Cross doc,” the apparent General replies.

Kolonia grunts as they finally succeed in sliding the injured man onto the gurney, then fixes an intense, sideways stare on the masked man. 

“I wasn’t aware that the Resistance was in the business of kidnapping neutral third parties…” she says, pointedly.

He shrugs. “Don’t look at me,” he protests, innocently, “ _She_ insisted on coming. The nurse, too.”

He indicates Rose, still sound asleep on the cot next to him. The older woman scoffs a bit, then re-trains her eagle eye on Rey, who has busied herself with once again checking her patient’s vitals. “Alright, doc. He still stable?”

Rey nods efficiently, maintaining eye contact. “Well, holy fucking hallelujah. You’ve achieved a miracle, girl,” the older woman says, flatly.

After a short pause, she continues with a surprising depth of compassion. “You look dead on your feet, love. I can watch over him while you rest. We’ll come get you if anything changes.”

Rey hesitates, but the woman gives her a gentle nudge over the gurney. “Go on. I cut my teeth as a paramedic in LA in the 90’s. I’ve got this.”

The young doctor steps gratefully away from the table, finally convinced. She finds herself looking questioningly at the man in charge. “Your nurse’ll be fine here; we’ll let her sleep. Follow me,” he says quietly, turning to exit the medical area from the same door they came in. 

She tiredly trudges behind him, expecting a long walk, but he stops almost as quickly as they started. Embarrassingly, Rey actually does run into his back this time, though thankfully not too hard. The man turns to her, running his hand through his hair as he does so in an uncharacteristically nervous gesture. His fingers catch on the knot of the bandanna tied over the lower half of his face. He ducks his head to take it off, the gesture almost sheepish, as though he’d completely forgotten he was wearing it.

“Kolonia sleeps across the hall,” he says, but Rey’s too busy staring to make sense of what he’s said.

He has the most open, earnest face she’s ever seen.

The deep brown eyes she’d noticed before are set underneath straight dark brows, balanced by a broad nose and full lips. The most arresting thing is his smile. He’s smiling at her, almost bashfully, a hint of white, straight teeth flashing between his lips. Her chest feels tight.

“I thought you’d appreciate being near Medical,” he continues, gesturing in front of them.

Rey turns to follow the movement of his hand, her brain trying desperately (and failing miserably) to catch up to the situation. Then it clicks. He’s showing her a small private room with two cots, clearly unoccupied. “The nurse could join you here once she’s had some rest – does that sound okay?”

Rey looks around to examine him again, his new, somewhat self-conscious attitude an extreme contrast from his earlier effortless command.

“Fine,” she says, nodding tightly, still somewhat offput.

He winces a little at her shortness, but it doesn’t really diminish his modest grin. “Um…” he begins, “It locks from the inside. The door. Just – so you know.”

The man nods awkwardly after this statement, then begins to back away, leaving her to this small oasis amidst the chaos. She’s frozen, caught in the shock of his statement. Without sugar-coating it, he’s just guaranteed her safety and autonomy in such a fundamental way that it’s nearly breathtaking.

“Hey, General?” she calls, just before he makes it out of her sight. “Do you have a name to go with that title?”

The micro-expression that flickers across his face is gone so quickly that she can’t identify it. His voice is tight when he answers. “Dameron. Poe Dameron,” – a pause – “you?”

She doesn’t hesitate at all when she answers. “Rey. Rey Skywalker.”


	4. Oh, but Praise Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poe gets schooled by old ladies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for more swearing.

This is a problem. A _huge_ problem. 

Poe had watched her as they came upon the base; he’d seen that look before. She stared around her in excited awe, unable to keep a positively _devastating_ smile of wonder from her face. He doubts she’d even realized her own expression - despite a nearly impenetrable façade of strength, Poe knew she had to be completely exhausted. It’s no wonder she’d been so easily awed by the scale of their operation. 

Very few civilians have any knowledge of the massive network of Resistance fighters organizing globally against the First Order of the U.U.S.A. and the New Empire of the UK. Most are so paralyzed by their own fear, as well as rampant right-wing propaganda and misinformation, that they're unable to see past their own survival. Poe doesn’t blame them for it, but he can’t help but feel hopeless at times. Even with their current network, they don’t have anywhere near the numbers they’ll need to prevail. Sitting around and wishing won’t do him any good, however, so most of the time he focuses on the day-to-day realities of war. 

But that _smile._

He’d almost been knocked off his feet by her smile.

Suddenly, Poe had been _seized_ by the desire to tell her _everything_ about what they’re trying to do here. Even now, having left her to some clearly needed sleep, he’s filled with a sort of fizzy, uplifting excitement he hasn’t felt in recent memory. He wants to ask her to join up. It’s ridiculous. Poe knows _literally nothing_ about her aside from her obvious skills as a surgeon. Why on earth is he so certain _not only_ that he would be able to convince her, but also that they’re going to _need_ her with them?

He gives his head and emphatic little shake as he re-enters Medical, ruthlessly suppressing his unfounded excitement. Kalonia is still with Finn, hooking him methodically up to the pulse and blood pressure monitors, giving him oxygen, and checking his sutures for any tearing. “He doing alright Dr. K?“ he asks, using the Resistance’s affectionate nickname for their medic. 

“Still not a doctor,“ she responds tiredly, as is her custom, but her smirk softens her words a bit. “Unbelievably he’s still hanging on.”

The relieved sigh that escapes Poe’s chest is powerful enough that he can suddenly feel every strain and pain he’s been ignoring for hours. Kalonia gently draws a sheet up to Finn’s shoulders, finally ready to let him rest. She fixes his Poe with a shrewd look. “I’m going to give it to you straight, Dameron. I’ve never seen surgical work this good. Literally _never_ – plastic surgeons aren’t this precise with their sutures. Where the hell did that girl come from?“

He shrugs helplessly. “I have no idea. I swear – she completely blindsided us. She just... Took over. And I let her.“

“I’m sorry, run that by me again?“ Kalonia responds incredulously. “You, General Poe Dameron of the Resistance, _let_ someone else take control? _Fuck._ Never thought I’d see the day.“

Poe jabs her with his elbow none to gently. “I’m no more a General than you are a doctor, Kalonia,“ he says. “And yeah, I did… Surprised me, too.“

He’s still surprised, to be honest. He’s not exactly well known amongst the Resistance for his ability to relinquish control. Poe’s called “The General” for a reason, despite the lack of a formal chain of command in the Resistance. How, _how_ did he yield to her so easily?

“Hm,” Kalonia grunts next to him, breaking him from his thoughts. He glances at her as she walks over to check on the nurse, seemingly content to leave her commentary that. Briefly, Poe considers calling her on it, but frankly, he’s too tired to argue. “How does she look?” he asks, gesturing vaguely to the sleeping nurse.

“Oh, she’ll be fine. Just needs to get some water and food into her when she wakes. Speaking of which, you’ll want to let Maz know we’re going to have two additional mouths to feed for the foreseeable future,” she points out.

Poe, who’s been busy thinking about his own cot, groans, “Yeah... _Fuck._ Maz is going to adopt them. You know how she likes to take in strays. We’ll never get rid of them.”

He feels a bit like a kid who’s about to be given detention when she hits him with a long, appraising look.

“You sure you want to get rid of them, General?”

Poe wishes he had something to say to that, but he doesn’t really know the answer, so he gives Dr. K a sarcastic little wave and heads for the Mess. It’s located across the inner courtyard, so there’s a bit of a walk for Poe to get there from Medical. Rebel fighters show him deference as he strides across the open space, saluting and calling him by his unearned title. As is his habit, he waves them all off good-naturedly.

The Vietnamese arm of the Resistance _is_ technically under his leadership, but it isn’t a title or job that he wants. The troops are under the carefully crafted impression that Poe’s dismissal of his role is purely casual modesty. Not one of them, not even Finn, knows that he bears his role with reluctance and almost impassible self-doubt. He’s been in command before, and the experience is not one he'd ever trusted himself to repeat. Now, he doesn’t have a choice.

As Poe approaches the large building they’ve adapted to house their kitchen and feed the troops, he swings around the back, keen to avoid being caught up in the mess hall. As silently as possible, he eases open the kitchen door and slides inside. A wall of heat and savory smells assault him as he enters the enclosed space of the kitchen. 

Maz, their head cook, always has at least three huge pots bubbling away on her massive fireplace, as she’d insisted that the kitchen needed no updating when they discovered the ancient citadel. Maz is a bit of a character like that, but Poe would never deny her, simply because her food is exceptional. He’s been fighting for a long time, and he long-ago come to terms with the fact that military rations simply do not taste good.

Maz had proven him wrong beyond a shadow of a doubt. The tiny Jamaican woman of completely indeterminate age performs literal miracles with their food. Because of this, Poe tries very hard to stay on her good side. Squinting through the steam and smoke from the fireplace, he attempts to locate the diminutive woman through the haze. “Maz?” he calls, then yelps when she appears at his side practically out of thin air.

“What are you doing here, pretty boy? Looking for handouts?”

Part of the reason Poe likes Maz so much is because she shows absolutely none of the deference to him the others do. “Don’t think I’m going to take pity on you just because Finn’s at death’s door. We all know he’s going to pull through.“

Paul winces at the mention of his injured friend. “Maz… He was hurt pretty bad – “

The small woman cuts him off with her characteristic affable disrespect. “None of that nonsense! I heard about the surgeon. She’s special, that one.”

At this, Poe pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head in disbelief. How on earth does news travel this fucking fast? “Who told you about her?” he says, closing his eyes in exasperation.

Maz smacks him upside the head. “No one had to tell me, hot stuff. I know everything that goes on here. Everything.“

Her gaze on him is unsettlingly perceptive. He glances away, uncomfortable, worried somehow that she knows how deep in shit he already is with this girl. His forehead prickles with sweat – whether from the heat or from Maz‘s sometimes spooky intuition, he’s unsure. He startles again when she reaches up to pat his arm comfortingly. “I’ll make sure they’re fed, handsome. You go get some rest.“ 

Poe smiles gratefully, leaving Maz to her concoctions with a quick kiss to the top of her head. She bats him away, giggling like a schoolgirl. He sneaks back out the way he came, hoping to avoid any further encounters with someone who will inevitably need something from him. Thankfully, luck is on his side, and he meets no one on the way to his quarters. A private room is the one thing he appreciates about his ostensible command – there’s no way he’d ever want to impose his nightmares on a barracks full of new recruits.

As he tiredly undresses in the small private room he’s allowed himself, his thoughts turn helplessly once again to the Red Cross surgeon.

Rey.

_Fuck._

She’d asked him. _She’d asked him,_ and he hadn’t been able to resist giving her his name, his full name. Then it was easy, so easy, for him to ask for hers in return.

Rey.

Rey _Skywalker._

It’s completely impossible. There’s no way she could be related to Luke, to Leia. He’s absolutely positive Luke had never had children… He’d vanished without a trace nearly a dozen years ago. She’s too young to be his daughter, though, so…

It’s impossible.

Luke’s disappearance had made international headlines. There’s absolutely no way he’s still alive, much less a relative of his, other than Leia. Poe is unfortunately very much aware of their deeply tragic shared past, and he knows they don’t have any living family. So, it’s impossible. Just a coincidence. And yet…

Luke had been a world-renowned brain surgeon before his disappearance. Known for his incredible philanthropy, he often flew all over the world to treat patients for free. The fact that she’s also a surgeon… No. Poe makes up his mind. It’s a coincidence. And he’s got to distance himself from her as much as possible.

He’d already fucked up by giving her his name. He knows himself well enough to know that he shouldn’t let her get familiar. The way she already occupies most of his thoughts after he’s known her barely a day is extremely concerning.

He flops down onto his cot, face pressed into the thin sheets, mind swirling. Desperately, Poe squeezes his eyes shut harder, trying to exorcise her from his thoughts, but it’s useless. It’s as though she’s tattooed to the backs of his eyelids; he can’t stop seeing her under the trees, stunning in the green-filtered light despite her exhaustion. 

He falls asleep picturing her smile.


	5. I Hold All the Keys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey continues to be a bad ass; Poe is afraid of his feelings so he acts like a jerk.

Rey wakes with a violent start, an aborted scream trapped behind her teeth. Her surroundings are steeped in shadow, and for a few heart-stopping seconds, the unfamiliar room and the last traces of her usual nightmares have her right back in her childhood, shaking with terror in the dark. Memories of the past few days come slowly flooding back, and her panicked breathing begins to slow as she realizes she’s safe.

If her life hadn’t been so strange from day one, she might not believe that she’s currently camped out at some kind of rebel base in the middle of the jungle; likely assumed kidnapped, and in charge of the post-op care of a severely injured guerilla fighter. Wiping cold sweat from the back of her neck, she shakes her head at herself in admonishment.

Trust Rey Skywalker to take things too far, again. No matter who has tried to mold her and shape her, they've never managed to quench the fire of her passion. She’s been fighting tooth and nail to protect herself and those who needed it for her entire life. Honestly, she doesn’t know how to live any other way. It’s the reason she became a surgeon. It’s who she is to her core.

Pulse lowering as the fog of her dream lifts, she takes stock. According to her watch, she’s slept for at least a few hours thanks to the locked door between her and the rest of the world. She doesn’t feel much better than she did when she fell asleep, but a little rest is better than none. Of course, her legs, feet, and back all ache from the long climb up into the mountains, and her mouth tastes like something died in it. Her head is pounding.

Clearly, Rey's in the early stages of dehydration, so that will have to be her first task: finding water. She swings her legs down off the cot, sitting up as fluidly as her various sore points allow. The room is _tiny,_ barely fitting the two cots inside its narrow stone confines, but she allows herself one more moment of gratitude for the locked door across from her.

She stares at the barrier, steeling herself to go and face the consequences of her decisions. Finally, with a deep, weary sigh, she heaves her tired frame up off the cot. Taking just one more moment to center herself, she snaps the bolt back on the door, emerging into the organized chaos of the base.

Scraping through her somewhat spotty memories of the route she’d followed to her quarters; she finds her way back to Medical. The instinct to surveil the situation inside is hardwired, and she lingers in the doorway, stopping to observe the room’s inhabitants. Rose is awake and working alongside Kalonia, changing the dressings on the injured soldier’s wounds and administering a push to his IV drip. Shockingly, the soldier is conscious.

Admirably, (or foolishly, depending on your opinion), he’s biting back any hint of pain as the two women gently sit him up to better access the long slashing wound across his back. The laceration had been deep enough to actually expose his spine, and Rey’s lightly amazed at how well her sutures have held. From her position by the door, she has a good view of his wounds, and she’s pleased to already see signs of healing. Thankfully, there isn’t any visible sign of infection, which is a bit of a miracle in and of itself given their post-op trek through the jungle. They hadn’t exactly been travelling in ideal sanitary conditions. 

Rose makes steady eye contact with the soldier, speaking quietly and reassuringly to him as Kalonia tapes new gauze over his wounds. Suddenly, Rey’s almost overwhelmingly thankful that Rose had insisted on accompanying her. If she’s being brutally honest, Rey knows she’s acutely lacking in bedside manner. Rey's well aware that she’s hard to relate to; the message she tends to deliver with her body language is a very clear: _stay away._ Her nurse is definitely the right person to comfort this man.

She makes her way into the room, footsteps silent out of many years' habit. Luckily, Rose and she have been working together for long enough that the nurse is accustomed to Rey’s habitual stealth. As the young doctor shifts in the doorway, Rose’s focus flicks briefly to her, before she directs it back to their patient. 

“You’re doing so well, Finn,” Rose encourages, flashing him with a brilliant smile, “Dr. Skywalker is here to check in on you, if that’s all right.”

The soldier, ( _Finn,_ that’s right), attempts to look over his shoulder at Rey. With a sharp hiss of pain, he abruptly stops, aborting the movement. Swiftly, Rey circles around the gurney so he can see her as Rose lays a steadying hand on his shoulder. Despite the sweat of exertion drenching his skin and the pain twisting his expression, he’s an undeniably attractive young man.

A deep pang of sadness echoes through Rey’s chest as she realizes Finn’s very likely no older than she is. There are many reasons that she’s ended up in a place like this so early in her life, and most of them aren’t good. She doubts life has been any kinder to this young man, considering the situation. The doctor gives him a warm little smile.

“Hello, Finn,” she murmurs, kindly. “I'm Rey. How are you feeling?” she asks, already assessing his reflexes and reactions. 

“Like I’ve been stabbed really badly, doc,” he wheezes, “How are _you_ feeling?”

Despite herself, Rey stops gauging his pupillary responses in order to chuckle. “Me? I’m feeling like I’ve followed some idealistic fools through the jungle for hours so that I can make sure their friend doesn’t die,” she snarks, secretly delighted when it prompts an astonishingly lovely smile on his face. 

Rose laughs just a little too loudly, and Rey glances over to see her friend’s gaze fixed on Finn’s face, a deep blush spreading across her cheeks. Glancing at Kalonia, she cocks an eyebrow, but the older woman just rolls her eyes. Putting that aside for a moment, the doctor efficiently finishes her points of assessment. Despite how strong and aware he’d appeared when she first stepped into the room, he’s quickly tiring, and she wants to let him rest.

Gently, all three women work together to ease Finn back down onto the gurney, his eyelids already heavy with exhaustion. “Well done,” she reassures him as he settles back into his pillow, “Rest now, soldier.”

Quicker than a thought, he’s asleep again. 

After a moment, Kalonia guides the two young women around the corner to her desk. She pulls out the ancient chair and a folding stool from beneath her desk, then hops up to sit atop its surface. The medic gestures grandly toward the two seats, clearly inviting the other two to sit.

Rose immediately takes the stool, but Rey remains standing. The older woman acknowledges her choice with a sharp nod; she clearly has the measure of Rey, just as a young doctor does of her. The medic clears her throat. 

“I’m not going to sugarcoat it for you, ladies,” she says, the L.A. slang incongruous in her soft English accent. “I wouldn’t have been able to do anything for that young man out there, and that isn’t going to change when you to leave here.”

The older woman pauses and releases a long breath, and for the first time, Rey notices the bone-deep exhaustion that suffuses the medic’s entire frame. “We used to have a full medical team, trauma surgeon and all… They were taken by first order troops three weeks ago.”

Rey flinches, familiar with the worst-case scenario for those compassionately involved in conflict. Though it’s internationally frowned upon, the kidnapping, ransom, torture, and murder of medics in wartime is hardly anything new. In the past, an enemy force might simply take them as prisoners of war; but the First Order and New Empire troops are notorious for boldly committing war crimes. Their med team is more than likely dead.

“I know that you two didn’t exactly sign up for this,” the older woman admits, “But we could really use your help around here. What do you say?”

Rose opens her mouth to answer, but Rey cuts her off, her heart unexpectedly pounding. “Absolutely not.”

Rose’s mouth closes with a snap, and she casts a resentful glare in Rey’s direction. “We’re here for one reason: the post-operative care of a Red Cross patient. We work for a humanitarian organization. We can’t take sides.”

The doctor’s words are clipped and precise, her statements absolute. Even so, Kalonia counters, “I think you’ll find that the realities of this fight don’t allow for noninvolvement, Dr. Skywalker. It’s been said that claiming neutrality when a people is being oppressed is to take the side of the oppressor.”

The doctor tenses, indignation boiling to the surface. “It’s also been said that not all those fighting _for_ the oppressor are offered the choice _not_ to,” she snaps in response. “I treat patients from both sides, but more importantly, I treat the innocents who are caught in the crossfire. I do this within the tenets and guidelines of my organization. My hands are tied.”

Kalonia regards her evenly for a long moment, then once again nods decisively. “Help yourselves to all the water you need – I’ll send someone along with food in a few minutes. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you to keep an eye on him,” she states, jerking her head in the direction of Finn.

Still fuming, Rey doesn’t deign to acknowledge her comment, but Rose quietly assures Kalonia that they will. As soon as the older woman leaves the room, the Rose rounds on the young doctor. “We could really help these people, Rey!” she accuses in a furious whisper, “You know as well as I do that these aren’t the bad guys!”

Rey slowly inhales, much more willing to regulate her emotions around her friend. “Of course, I know that,” she says softly, “And I do want to help them. But have you considered the consequences of a move like that?”

The fiery expression on the young nurse’s face is slowly extinguished as she stops to contemplate Rey’s question. “You’ll automatically be labelled a traitor,” she gently pushes, “If you’re captured, they’ll either kill you, or worse, torture you. How do you think Paige would feel if that happened?” 

“Paige wants to join up even more than I do,” Rose sullenly states, but she avoids eye contact, an indication that Rey’s at least been heard.

Folding her arms, she worries at her lip with her teeth, crossing to lean on Kalonia’s desktop. “I’m not immune to this either, Rose. They’re doing what they can to fight injustice, and I admire it,” – a pause – “But I’ve also witnessed the very worst ways conflict can affect those caught in the middle. I dedicated myself to protecting them, and all I’m trying to do is protect you, too”

Rose nods slowly, but Rey can sense that she isn’t fully convinced. She’s done her best though, so there’s nothing else for it. She pushes herself to stand straight, then wanders out into the main area of Medical to see if she can find some water. There’s a jug and several plastic cups perched next to a tap that has clearly been installed recently. As she’s filling a cup for each of them, she’s interrupted by the abrupt arrival of the General. 

Poe. 

Unwillingly, Rey feels the corner of her mouth quirk up in a small smile of greeting. She’s taken aback, however, when the expression that meets her smile is stony and distant. He regards her gravely for several moments, and her seed of a smile dies before it can blossom. Reflexively, Rey’s eyes narrow, her posture tightening as she slowly puts down the half full cup of water she’s holding. Gone is the charmingly bashful man who walked her to her quarters. Something’s changed.

“Status report, Dr. Skywalker?” Poe asks, his tone formal and distant.

“He’s stable,” she says carefully, noting how his shoulders relax almost imperceptibly. “He’s doing remarkably well, actually. He was conscious earlier.”

The General whips around to look at Finn, an expression of painful, almost helpless hope flashing across his face virtually faster than she can register. 

“Fine,” he says, still looking toward his fallen friend. “You and Nurse Tico will be responsible for his primary care while you’re here. For the duration of your stay, you are not to provide treatment to any other Resistance soldiers. You are not to speak to any Resistance members other than myself and Kalonia. You will be confined to your quarters and Medical. You will be escorted back to the Red Cross clinic as soon as you assess Finn’s condition to be stable enough to give over his sole care to Kalonia. Understood?“

The ringing silence that meets this pronouncement is broken by Rose, barging around the corner, blood up and ready to argue again. Rey feels a fond twinge in her chest for her tiny, fiery O.R. nurse, but she interrupts calmly before Rose can start yelling. “No, General Dameron,” she responds, reverting to formality as he had, “I’m afraid it’s _not_ understood. We're here in a humanitarian capacity, and we will not be treated like prisoners in return for our kindness.”

Rose immediately switches to grinning expectantly at Rey, thinking that the doctor’s natural opposition to authority will result in a typical explosion. As Rey continues, however, it becomes clear that Rose doesn’t know her as well as she thinks she does. “I agree; we won’t treat any of your other soldiers. Doing so is a risk for us, and I’m as serious about protecting my friend as I am in protecting yours,” a pause, “Understood?”

The statement is deadly in its tone and in its implied threat. What Rose doesn’t know about Rey is that there is an undercurrent of fear beneath all of her strength, and she hasn’t yet found the cause or the person worth prioritizing over her own survival or the safety of the few people she loves. This man and his fight are not enough to change that, and he needs to be aware of it.

Rose turns on her heel and storms back into the relative privacy of Kalonia’s corner to fume. Rey’s sure she’ll be in for more of her nurse’s typical bleeding-heart guilt-tripping as soon as the General leaves. Despite the flurry of movement from Rose, Ray and Poe remain motionless, eyes locked on each other. Their stalemate lasts for an almost uncomfortably long time before the general finally breaks it. 

“Fine,” he concedes. It’s clipped, professional, but she can’t help but feel a slight thrill of victory. She senses that he’s not a man who gives up control so easily.

“You’ll care for Finn, and you’ll be escorted anywhere you go on base, except for your room. Obviously, there will be certain areas you won’t be allowed to explore,” he states, clearly expecting to have the last word on this issue.

She watches him dispassionately, waiting until she can see a bead of sweat escape his hairline and rolls down his jawline. She’s suddenly strangely thirsty and darts out her tongue to wet her lips before she speaks. “Naturally,” she agrees, “In return, I want your word that Nurse Tico and I can expect a reasonable amount of privacy and a guarantee of protection from your troops,” she evenly states, firm in her defensiveness.

This finally prompts a real emotional response from Poe. “You do know we’re _fighting_ the First Order, don’t you Dr. Skywalker?” he growls, “We’re not in the business of _hurting_ people.”

She approaches him until she’s just inside his personal space, face-to-face with him thanks to their nearly equal heights. “I do know that,” she says evenly, “But I also know that people fighting for a good cause can still do bad things.”


	6. Let it Ring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes Rosalind, back on her bullshit...
> 
> Hello and welcome back to our irregularly scheduled program!  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> Poe is in too deep already; Poe's gotta go on a mission; Poe is, unfortunately, Poe, haha
> 
> I've played pretty fast and loose with Vietnamese geography, here, but I loved the idea of a deadly pass ending in this incredibly dramatic cave system to the west, sooooo sorry for fucking with reality, lol I've also been flexible with the membership of Black Squadron. So sue me.
> 
> Warnings for language in this chapter, as well as a near panic attack and sliiiiiight self-harm.

_“But I also know that people fighting for a good cause can still do bad things…”_

Her words echo and clamor through Poe’s brain as he all but flees from medical. Every tiny piece of herself that this woman gives up makes him thirstier for answers, makes him want to fight the world ~~for her~~ , makes him come one step closer to _caring_ and that _will not do._

For a moment, Poe pauses in the shadow of the medical building to catch his breath. He’d gone in there, metaphorical guns blazing and a solid sense of command, and she’d once again managed to knock him off his axis with no more than a few choice words. All that he’d been trying to do was make sure they were kept safe and out of the way of the Resistance while he’s gone. As is already the norm between them (and _Jesus_ it’s only been a couple of days) all of his well-laid plans blow up in the face of Rey Skywalker.

Something in him doesn’t believe that Rey’s parting words came from nothing more than her observations. _She’s_ been hurt in the name of a good cause. It’s pure speculation, but years of hardened instinct have made him incredibly adept at reading people, and he knows, deep in his core, that he’s correct. The thought sickens him so profoundly that he has to lean over and gag for a moment, heaving at nothing but oxygen and a visceral sense of wrongness.

His nails tangle in his hair and scrape at his scalp as he gulps for air, forcing his eyes shut and focusing on the small bites of pain. With a monumental effort of will, he forces himself not to go any further down the road of _just what_ the young woman has been through to make her the way she is – powerful and smart and kind, yet full of anger and paralyzed by fear.

Poe’s surely drawn blood, now, with how deeply he’s digging his nails in, but he uses the pain as an anchor to put his head on straight. _Now is not the time._ There are more immediate crises for him to focus on than the troubles of Rey Skywalker. 

This morning, he’d awoken shaking and covered in sweat from one of his usual nightmares. The wake-up call had come in the form of Beaumont with word of terrible news. Upon his rather dramatic arrival at the Command Centre, where he’d skidded through the door with his shirt half-buttoned and his boots untied, he’d been dismayed to learn that one of their supply drops had been intercepted by First Order patrols. 

Under normal circumstances, their base could afford to miss a drop or two, but this case was different for two reasons. Firstly, this drop wasn’t food or gear or even ammo, it was meds. Secondly, the drop was being made by a group of civilian aid workers. Given the First Order’s reputation for human rights abuses and war crimes, there’s no way those civilians will be kept alive after questioning. 

And there’s no way the Resistance can survive without those medical supplies.

Knowing that he’d need to be with his team for the extraction, Poe had immediately headed to medical after they’d adjourned. Skywalker and the nurse needed to be kept as far in the dark and as safe as possible. It would have been so much easier to convince the young doctor stay put if she truly understood the danger she was in. Instead, she’d reacted exactly the way he’d hoped she wouldn’t, and now they’re once again at odds. 

_Damnit,_ and he needs to keep his mind on the _goddamn_ stolen supplies.

With the still-fresh memory of that devastating report, Poe furiously re-directs his anxiety into action. He strides away from the medical building, leaving behind all thoughts of the young doctor and her charge. He heads with purpose towards the training field behind the barracks, certain that Black Squad will be there. No soldiers greet him cheerfully this time as he crosses the open land between the buildings of the citadel. Most still flash a respectful salute, but some of the newer recruits catch the expression on his face and actually turn tail and run.

As he rounds the west side of the enormous barracks building, Poe can hear the raucous teasing – whip-smart jibes and petty insults being tossed back and forth with no more sincerity than a game – that Black Squad has become famous for around the base. It’s not a formal unit, and “Black Squad” is more of a nickname than anything, a reference to some of the shadier shit they get up to. 

Membership is based upon skill-set rather than rank, and Poe knows that they’re the ones who can be trusted with the more difficult missions; spying, intel, sabotage, smuggling, and covert ops are just a few of the things he’s asked these men and women to do. And because Poe never expects one of his soldiers to carry out a mission that he himself wouldn’t do, he’s just as much a part of Black Squad as any of them are. Where they go, he goes.

He’s greeted by the sight of Kare and Jess sparring before the eager eyes of the rest of the Squad. Snap, Iolo, Suri, L’Ulo and Tallie watch on, shouting equal parts encouragement and invectives. Kare has the advantage of size on Jess – she’s every inch the Viking warrior her stature suggests. Jess is much smaller, it’s true, but she’s also devilishly quick and – Poe watches with amusement as Jess executes a take-down so fast it’s a blur – a hand-to-hand specialist.

The spectators cheer as Kare flings her weight around, attempting to break Jess’s hold. Snap looks like he’s about to jump in and help his wife, but to no-one’s surprise, Kun easily breaks the smaller woman’s hold on her before tossing her like a ragdoll. Jess rolls, laughing wildly, her long black hair whipping around her face in a tangled mess. The entire group dissolves into laughter, several thumping Snap across the back for thinking he needed to intervene.

Poe finds a slight smile cracking through his grim expression, despite himself. “Black Squad!” he shouts, and they all turn to greet him without an ounce of respect, just as he wants them to.

A cacophonous overlap of comments assaults his ears, but he waves them off, his expression once again turning grave. To his squad’s credit, they immediately snap to attention, recognizing the seriousness of Poe’s visit instantly.

“What’s happened, Poe?” Tallie asks, ever the strategist, her mind probably already busy with a list of gear they might need. 

He sighs, scrubbing his hand through who-knows-how-many days of growth along his jaw. “It’s the med drop. They were intercepted by the F.O. We have to rescue the civilians and get those supplies back in our possession, before the First Order can make it to their base. It’s too heavily guarded; we’d never be able to breach it.”

“Location?” Iolo prompts quietly, knowing that they’ll need to use the terrain to their advantage. As their pathfinder and tracker, he’ll be instrumental in setting up the ambush.

Poe crouches down beside the group, unsheathing his knife before scraping the flat of the blade across a clear patch of dirt, providing himself an area in which to sketch out their plan of attack. He draws two long, curved parallel lines – a passage that grows narrower the closer it gets to one end. About a foot beyond the narrow end, he inscribes a large circle in the dirt, guarded by a series of half circles, extending almost out to the narrow end of the passage.

The tip of his knife lands dead centre in the circle. “Right now, our meds are on their way here: the F.O.’s main supply depot, hidden deep in the Pu Sam Cap caves. Because our drop point was at this end of O Quy Ho pass, here,” – he jabs his knife down on the opposite end of the passage from the First Order base – “it would be easiest for the First Order to transport it through the pass, as it’s the most direct route around the city to the caves. It’s also the ideal place for an ambush.”

He glances up at his team, meeting each of their gazes briefly, intently. “Scouts report two armoured vehicles and eight bikes protecting the truck, so it looks like they aren’t anticipating any resistance from us. No extras on this outing, kids. Black Squad only.”

As one, Black Squad nods, then each cuts off in a different direction, heading to their individual prep. Only Tallie hangs back. Gently, she grasps his sleeve, keeping him in place for the moment. “Poe,” she says quietly, “I don’t like the sound of this.”

The general opens his mouth, ready to reassure her, but the comforting words don’t come. “I know,” he sighs, “Our chance of success is slim-to-none, but the Resistance can’t afford to lose those meds. We have to try.”

Tallie shakes her head, a fond, if exasperated smile lingering on her lips. “I know _that_ , but it isn’t what worries me. We’ve had longer odds by far,” she pauses, as if searching for the right words. “I don’t think you should come with us, Poe.”

He pulls away, taking a step back so that he can squint incredulously at her. “Tallie, where you go, I go. Why on earth wouldn’t I come with you all?”

“You know as well as I do that the F.O. would do pretty much anything to get its hands on you. Up to and including intercepting a vital supply drop in order to draw you out. My gut tells me that this is a trap.”

With a scoff, Poe turns to walk away, then stops. Tallie’s words drop into his stomach like stones. “You might be right, T,” he admits, “But it doesn’t matter. We need those meds, and you guys need me. End of discussion.”

He doesn’t wait for Tallie to answer, only heads off to prepare.

~~~

A short time later, Black Squad heads out on motorbikes, speeding along forest paths worn down by animals and villagers over the centuries. Poe leads the column, weaving and dodging expertly through the trees. For a split-second, he feels the thrill of his childhood, of careening down the lip of the caldera near his home on hand-me-down dirt bikes. His cheek quirks up in a small smirk as he hunches down tighter over his handlebars and revs his bike into a higher gear.

There are answering whines from the bikes following him, his team quickly adapting to the increase in speed as the trees begin to thin around them. They soon emerge on the exposed ridge above the O Quy Ho Pass. They’re about a kilometer away from the from the mouth of the pass, which ends at the Pu Sam Cap caves: the near-impenetrable supply depot of the north Vietnamese arm of the First Order. 

From their perch high above the road of the pass, clinging to the sheer edge of the green mountain that plunges down and past the road for hundreds of meters, they have a clear vantage-point from which to spy the first edges of the motorcade. Iolo immediately and efficiently sets up his high-powered scope to survey the landscape. He begins identifying weak points in the terrain while the rest of the team prepares their charges.

Intent on his task, Poe almost doesn’t notice L’Ulo’s quiet approach. He’s the eldest of Black Squad, and the one who keeps them all together, if Poe’s honest with himself. L’Ulo brings a steadiness to their missions that could otherwise be hairy, a quiet confidence that calms and focuses the rest of them. When the new recruits get to know about the (in)famous Black Squad, many of them question why L’Ulo, a career soldier without outstanding skills or specialities, would be included amongst their ranks. 

Black Squad wouldn’t be half so successful if they didn’t have L’Ulo. When he talks, Poe usually listens. 

“Finn’s still doing well, I heard,” he mentions quietly, inclining his head ever so slightly towards Poe.

“He seems to be,” Poe agrees, “Thank Christ.”

L’Ulo glances at him sideways, a sly eyebrow slightly arched. “I don’t think He had anything to do with it this time, Poe.”

The younger man snorts, rolling his eyes before he reluctantly admits, “Yeah, I guess the doc deserves most of the credit.”

“Damn right, she does,” L’Ulo chuckles, jabbing a sharp elbow into Poe’s side.

“Hey!” he coughs, hands up to defend from the harder-than-necessary hit. “Watch it! I’ve gotta come back from this mission, Sarge. Don’t kill me yet!”

The rueful grin slips from the sergeant’s face faster than Poe can blink, and he flinches back almost as if he’d been slapped. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Poe. We can’t afford to lose anyone else. We need new people, and fast.”

Head shaking and mouth already open to argue, Poe’s cut short by L’Ulo’s next unexpected statement. “It’s like she _fell into our laps,_ Poe. Not only is she the medic we need right now, she’s seen battle before. I know you’ve noticed it.”

For a deeply tense moment, Poe can’t speak. _It can’t happen._ There’s simply _no way_ he’d ever put Rey at risk like that. “No, L’Ulo,” Poe growls, his face stormy, “We aren’t talking about this. There’s nothing to talk about.”

With that, he stuffs the explosive charges into his pack and abruptly stands. With little more than a nod at each member of his team, they silently begin to fan out and get into position. Poe checks comms as he heads for his own post, ensuring that all will receive Iolo’s signal as the First Order begins to appear. Once he reaches his position about five hundred meters west of the rest of the group, he checks out his surroundings with his rifle scope. 

He’s a little startled to realize that he can now see the opening of the cave system that’s been commandeered by the First Order as a base. Fascinated, he fixes his scope on the well-fortified entrance, using the excuse to gather intel on the location while he can. Two tanks flank either side of the monumental steel doorway, as does an entire battalion of stormtroopers, glaringly out-of-place with their white body armour in the jungle. Closed-circuit cameras cover the entire open vestibule between the end of the pass and the mouth of the caves, and three guard towers cling to the slopes, bristling with artillery.

As Poe counts ground troops, some sort of changing of the guard begins right under his watchful eyes. He’s focused intently on their patterns, trying to identify a weakness, when he suddenly notices a slight difference in these trooper uniforms. Refocusing the lens of his scope, a sharp breath of fear and shock sears into his lungs. Those aren’t just First Order troopers. They’re marked with the insignia of the Empire. 

He reaches for his comms, when suddenly his radio crackles to life with Iolo’s signal. Poe whips his rifle around, searching desperately through the scope for the approaching First Order vehicles. _There._ His heart speeds up immeasurably as his focus narrows and a fresh prickling of sweat breaks across his brow and under his arms. 

Four civilian prisoners march at the head of the snaking line of vehicles, an obscene number of guns aimed at their backs as they stumble through the rocky pass.

His heart clenches. _Bastards._ They’re _flaunting_ the prisoners. They’re fearless. They’re… _FUCK._ Poe presses at his comms, desperately hissing, “Don’t detonate! Repeat: DO NOT detonate! We’ve got vulnerable friendlies!”

“Copy. We see them, Poe,” Snap replies back, voice deadly calm. “What do we do instead? We need to get them away from the vehicles – they’ll be caught in the crossfire if we don’t.”

“Shit,” Poe curses, frozen for a moment as the convoy draws ever nearer. 

“Kun!” he barks abruptly, “Set off a half-charge to draw their attention, see if we can’t get the lead vehicles to stop. I’ll head to the top of the line and secure the hostages. Give me two minutes from Kare’s blast before you all set off the rest of the charges.”

“You got it, Commander,” Tallie confirms, the loose title the closest they ever get to acknowledging his rank.

Poe’s off and sprinting, darting down through the greenery to intercept the hostages. He catches flashes of their bright blue scrubs between the trees as he dashes surely over the leaf litter and fallen logs. The glimpses become more frequent as he closes in, when suddenly the first explosion sounds from behind him.

As he breaks out from beneath the canopy, he skids to a halt directly behind the prisoners. All four have turned to watch as the side of the mountain appears to _rip_ , then _slip_ , then speed toward them with a great _ROAR._ Poe sprints towards them, closing the distance as fast as he before they get caught in the path of the slide. “Hey!” he shouts as he races to the nearest blue-clad aid-worker.

The man turns, and Poe’s stomach drops as the world explodes.


	7. And I Hope You Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey has some unpleasant and confusing interactions, and gets some unpleasant and confusing news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for a near-panic attack, and dissociation. Brief references to past psychological abuse involving bindings and blindfolds.

After monitoring Finn closely for several hours, Rey now crouches in the hard-packed dirt behind the medical building. She watches carefully as numerous soldiers cross the yard in the evening light. They seem to head in every direction, busy like a colony of ants. The crunch of earth under heavy boots and the crisp scent of crushed greenery reach her senses, drifting upwind to her hiding spot. Pressing her thin frame as close to the side of the building as possible, she’s well-concealed in the deep shade cast by its roof and the surrounding jungle canopy.

A young soldier passes close to her but doesn’t sense her presence there. Logically, she knows it’s risky to be going against the general’s orders, but she can’t help herself. Her mentor had once been known to regularly accuse her of making choices for the sole purpose of being contrary. While that isn’t exactly true, Rey _does_ have a problem with people telling her what she can and can’t do.

The doctor watches carefully until the coast is momentarily clear, all the rebels present either distracted or facing away. Quick as a flash, she darts silently from one building to the next, creating a mental map of the citadel. When they're within her reach, she peeks through windows, trying to ascertain which structures are used for what. Before too long, she’s located the barracks, the armoury, and what appear to be the command quarters. All of a sudden, a delicious, spicy, savoury smell hits her like a ton of bricks.

She’s concealed behind some of the thick foliage that encroaches along the east end of the compound, tucked outside a small outbuilding. Facing the little wooden shack is one of the larger stone buildings of the rebel base. A clamour of noise and steam pour out of a small window high in the wall, overtop of the door. She realizes this is the kitchen and mess hall. 

Still tetchy from her fight with Rose and prickling with defiance at the general’s orders, she huffs, weighing the risk of being caught against the painful rumble in her stomach. The rational part of her mind that Dameron wasn’t deliberately trying to antagonize her, but unfortunately, Rey’s never been very good at listening to her rational side. She bristles with annoyance at the way he runs so hot and cold, one moment the calm, distant leader, the next just a man, bashful and sweet. That, and the conflicting roil of emotion she feels every time she thinks about the possibility of joining the Resistance results in her making the same stupid decision she _always_ does. _Nobody_ tells Rey Skywalker what to do.

With a grin as sharp as glass, Rey slips between the structures on silent feet before ducking through the kitchen door. It’s very dim inside, the only light coming from several small windows that stud the wall, and a glowing bed of coals strewn across a massive hearth. Smoke and steam obscure the air; the large room is full of sound. The slow crackle of the embers, the rumble of boiling liquid and the soft rattling of pot lids rolls over the distant buzz of many people in conversation and the rhythmic tap, tap, tap, of a knife meeting a cutting board.

Sliding to one side of the doorway, Rey makes sure she’s as concealed as possible against the light from outside as the door swings slowly closed. She remains there for some time, waiting and trying to determine which direction the chopping sounds are coming from. “Don’t just stand there, doctor!” comes a surprisingly loud voice from somewhere in the vicinity.

The young doctor squints into the gloom, trying to see whoever has detected her presence, but the ambient sound and hazy air make it challenge. Despite her years of experience, the voice next comes from somewhere around her left elbow. “I’ve heard about you, Rey Skywalker.”

Rey visibly jumps, something she hadn’t thought herself capable of anymore. Perched _well_ inside her personal bubble, a tiny black woman stands peering up at her through thick, bottle-bottom glasses. A note of alarm _zings_ up her spine as she swiftly recovers from her surprise and registers what was said. “How do you know my name?” she demands warily, putting distance between herself and the unexpected presence of this tiny woman. 

She chuckles at Rey’s guarded reaction. “People talk, young Skywalker,” she offers, revealing nothing of substance.

Rising anxiety forces her back another step, but she tries for bravado. “Oh? And what’s been said?” she inquires, her voice surprisingly light and steady.

The older woman raises a placating hand, but doesn't really answer the question. “You have nothing to fear, Rey. My name is Maz. Come! You need food.”

With that enigmatic series of statements, she turns away and begins to disappear back into the thick steam on small but swift steps. Rey stands frozen, staring after the strange woman with her mouth open in shock. She hovers there, paralyzed by fear and indecision, before her stomach chimes in with a timely and particularly _emphatic_ growl. Before she’s really conscious of moving, Rey inhales slowly, sharpening her awareness of her surroundings as she plunges into the heady cooking fumes to follow Maz.

Two desires war in Rey as she makes her way slowly around huge kettles, baskets and crates of food. First and foremost, always, is her survival instinct, which both insists she eat _and_ that she not let down her guard. Yet it clashes spectacularly with her natural curiosity - her desire to learn - and she _needs_ to know what, if anything, this woman actually knows about her. Gaze flicking back and forth, never landing anywhere for long, Rey catalogues potential threats, obstacles and weapons as she searches for the elderly cook.

A rattling sound echoes to her right, and she turns swiftly to see the curious old woman placing a large tray upon a freestanding butcher’s block. The tray is leaden with food. Fragrant, steaming rice and a riot of colourful vegetation is served alongside skewered, barbequed meat. There’s also some type of egg dish and a glass of water cold enough that it’s beaded with condensation in the humid air.

When Rey doesn’t move for a long moment, Maz scoffs and pushes the tray across the wooden surface, closer to Rey. “Eat!” she orders, sweeping her hand grandly over the table as though she’d prepared Rey a feast and not just a meal. 

In actual fact, from the young doctor’s perspective, she _is_ being served a feast. She tries not to think too hard about the protein bars and rations she’s been subsisting on for the past few months. There's no other way she could have sustained the near-inhuman hours she kept, so it’s entirely possible that this is _actually_ the first time she’s seen a proper meal in _weeks._ With very little hesitation and the comforting knowledge that it wouldn’t make much sense to poison or drug her, she falls upon the food in front of her.

“Slowly,” comes the soft warning.

Gulping a few short breaths in to make it past the instinct to binge, Rey forces herself into taking smaller bites, knowing full well that her body would be unused to such good food after such a long time.

“Good,” Maz nods approvingly, “This place will be good for you. It’s time to join the fight against the dark, Rey.”

The young doctor freezes with a bite halfway between her bowl and her mouth, fixing her gaze on the older woman. “What exactly do you think you know about me?” she asks, bluntly, already tired of the verbal games. 

Ever the survivalist, she allows her food to complete the journey to her mouth when she’s finished speaking. Maz squints sharply at her through the thick lenses, clearly sizing her up. “I’ve been around for long time, young Skywalker. You live long enough, and you learn to see the same things in different people. You look to me like a woman who is full of fear. But I also see legacy. Destiny.”

Rey glances away, refusing to make eye contact. “I learned a long time ago not to trust people who spoke to me of ‘destiny,’” she replies acidly. “Right now, my only destiny is to help Finn. The rest is frankly none of your damn business, no matter _how_ well you claim to know me,” she bites. 

The older woman laughs in response. “Oh, I like you!” Maz crows, grinning delightedly at the now-dumbfounded Rey. “You’ve got spark! Finish your food.”

Apparently, that’s all she’s going to get out of the strange old woman for the moment, so she simply shrugs her shoulders and tucks back into the mouth-watering food. Whether or not Maz is certifiable, she’s clearly an excellent cook. She’s a whirlwind of precise activity around Rey as the younger woman eats steadily through the food she’s been given. Spices are produced and thrown into huge, steaming crocks, vegetables are chopped, and meat is grilled with a speed that’s impressive given the woman’s clear old age.

The occasional curse or utterance makes its way back to Rey as she chews, and after the fourth time it happens, she can’t help but huff out a short laugh. Maz immediately appears, hands on her hips and a wicked grin on her lips. “Oh yes. I like you, Rey Skywalker. I can see why he likes you, too. Don’t fear for Poe. He’ll make it back for you.”

“What?” she chokes, her meal instantly forgotten. “Make it back? Is the General gone?”

Maz nods like she hasn’t just dropped a metaphorical grenade in the middle of the kitchen. “He went to rescue our stolen supplies and some people who were taken hostage. Something went wrong, and Poe was captured.”

Rey’s heart jumps into her throat, horror rising like bile from her stomach. “ _Captured?_ ” is all she manages, the swirl of emotion and anxiety inside her so complex that it chokes off the rest of her speech.

“Yes. Black Squad made it back with the supplies, but Poe is in the hands of the enemy.”

She’s trying to breathe, but her lungs don’t seem to be doing their job. There’s a panic attack barrelling down on her like a jet engine, but she fights it, trying to focus on Maz’s words. “Don’t worry; Black Squad will bring him home to us. There isn’t anyone better…”

Maz’s voice is drowned out by the _roaring_ of blood in Rey’s ears, and the dishes crash soundlessly together as she clumsily pushes herself away from the butcher’s block. She turns as if in slow motion, the older woman’s mouth still moving mutely behind her. Her limbs feel uncoordinated, and she stumbles a bit as she rushes back out the door.

Rey’s head clears like she’s plunged herself into a frozen lake when she erupts out into the light, breathing heavily. The panic retreats. She rolls her neck and shoulders with discomfort as she turns to walk quickly away from the mess hall, back in the direction of the medical building. She swallows, her mind glancing fearfully off memories of deafeningly silent expanses of lonely desert, of bindings and blindfolds and questions, always questions.

Needing to centre herself, needing the familiarity and stability of her practice, Rey bypasses her quarters and heads directly for the clinic. It’s deserted, and the lights are dimmed, just as she left it. Rose had made her exit in a huff long ago to take a Dameron-sanctioned tour of the base with none other than Kay (last name apparently Connix). Finn had been resting comfortably when she crept away, and she expects he’ll still be doing the same.

The young doctor walks softly up to his bed, prepared to check his vitals as gently and quietly as possible. When she glances up to his face, however, she sees that his eyes are open. He watches her with a sort of playful intelligence, his dark eyes glittering in the soft light.

“Hello, Finn,” she murmurs, attempting a poor excuse for a smile. “Not that I’m not happy to see you alert, but you should be resting.”

Methodically, she begins to strap on a blood pressure cuff. The _painfully_ young soldier clears his throat to answer. Silently, she offers him a cup of water. He swallows a few times, throat clearly dry; nods. She lifts the cup to his lips, patiently waiting while he sips his fill.

Once he’s done, she goes back to the cuff. A period of silence follows before she glances up at him with a minute smirk and prompts: “I believe you were making up an excuse about why you’re awake?”

Another short pause. “I’m worried about Poe,” he mutters, his voice low and a little frightened.

Her head snaps up, the panic from earlier threatening to resurface. “They told you he’s been captured?” she hisses, shocked. 

Finn shakes his head slowly. “No. Connix doesn't know I overheard her telling Rose when they came back here.”

Rey bites her lip, looking away again. Despite herself, she asks, “What exactly did Connix say?”

The soldier closes his eyes and leans back into his pillow for a few breaths, clearly needing a break before they can continue to speak. “She said that the First Order intercepted a medical supply drop and took hostages. Civilian volunteers who weren’t doing anything wrong.”

He pauses again, and Rey cringes with remorse. Speaking with her is clearly costing him a great effort. She senses, nonetheless, that he still needs to talk about it. Why else would he be telling her the truth about his wakefulness? Gently, she dabs some sweat from his forehead, again offering him the water.

“Poe took Black Squad,” Finn continues, ignoring the proffered cup, “- they’re our black-ops team - to try and rescue the hostages and steal back the supplies. They think it was a trap. They think _Poe_ was the target all along.”

His breathing is becoming laboured, the beats on the monitor stepping up in frequency as his heart rate elevates. Finn weakly swats her hand away when she tries to calm him. “You don’t understand,” he gasps, tears now running freely down his dark cheeks, mingling there with the sweat of pain and anxiety. “Poe isn’t _just_ a prisoner. He’s in the hands of the bastard who did _this_ to me, and it’s _my fault_ because I couldn’t kill Kylo Ren when I had the chance!”

Rey’s vision instantly tunnels. It’s a bit like being underwater – everything is muffled and slow, blurring around her. She slowly stands, mechanically reassuring Finn, calming him with a detachment that feels wrong, feels unnatural, but even then, it doesn’t _feel_ like very much. The soldier is quickly tiring, slumping back into unconsciousness even as he continues to blame himself for his friend’s capture. Once he’s out, she automatically administers what will be a much-needed push of the Resistance’s woefully limited painkillers to his IV.

Numbly, Rey turns and leaves the room. As she passes by, her fingers automatically reach out to seize a pen and small pad of paper from Kalonia’s desk. She heads down the hall towards the room she shares with Rose, still feeling oddly disconnected. Silently, she eases the door open, peeking in to see the nurse solidly passed out on her cot. She steps into the room as quietly as she can. Pausing to stand over Rose’s bed, she quickly scrawls a short note onto the borrowed pad.

_Rose,  
I have to leave for a little bit.  
I need to ‘borrow’ some supplies from the Resistance in order to carry out my plan.  
So, I can’t tell you where I’m going – they’ll try to catch me and stop me.  
I’ll come back.  
Rey  
P.S. If I don’t come back – I think you’ll be safe with them._

As she walks purposefully away from the medical building, heading for the armoury she’d spotted earlier, the numbness she’s been feeling begins to ease. It’s quickly replaced with white-hot fury – fury and an undercurrent of terror so deep it just feels like _more rage._ There’s only one reason that Kylo Ren would be in Vietnam. 

It isn’t Finn’s fault that Poe’s in Kylo Ren's hands. It’s _hers._

Kylo would only be here if he knows _Rey’s_ here.

She’s brought him here.

She’s brought him here and she’s going to kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
> .  
> .  
> Hey all,
> 
> I hesitated to post a new chapter with all that's going on in the world right now, but I know we can't all be out on the front lines protesting, and that some will need solace or an escape. If you _can_ be out this week, please do. Black Lives Matter.
> 
> Rosalind


	8. Elk Blood Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh no, Poe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Firstly, sincere apologies that this took me so long. It's been sitting fully formed in my head for a while, but given the subject matter of this chapter, it was difficult to write.
> 
> CONTENT WARNING:
> 
> Look, in this case, I don't give a shit about spoilers - I don't want any of you to be harmed by my writing. This chapter contains a graphic description of modern and ancient torture techniques, as well as the actual torture of Poe. A physical beating is also mentioned. TW: blood, gore, body horror, medical horror, scalpels, cutting, torture, psychological torture, pharmacological torture, administering drugs without consent, narcotics, medical procedures without consent, restraints, flaying.
> 
> HISTORICAL NOTE:
> 
> Kylo's description and understanding of the _Lingchi_ is from a deeply problematic, colonialist perspective. For a more nuanced perspective, check out _Death by A Thousand Cuts_ by Timothy Brook, Gregory Blue, and Jerome Bourgon.
> 
> PS Also, I think this story might be a trilogy... oh no why do i do this to myself please join me for years and years and years...

Consciousness arrives less like a slap and more like being slowly dipped into a pool of _fire._ Every square _millimetre_ of his skin seems to hurt. There’s really no telling where he ends and the pain begins, at first. Slowly, his other senses begin drop back in, layering atop each other like sedimentary rock.

After pain comes piercing light so bright, he has to close his eyes against it; then it's the unpleasant, metallic taste of blood in his mouth. Finally, the scent of disinfectant and steady beep of medical monitors. The dull panic that’s been threatening to rise in his chest momentarily lies back again. Is he back at the base, in medical? If he looks, will he see Rey’s face?

He opens his eyes again. When his blurred vision sharpens, his stomach suddenly _drops_ precipitously. He isn’t going to see Rey, because he’s not back at the Resistance base. Poe is in the custody of the First Order. 

Thankfully, if somewhat unpleasantly, with this realization, he instantly regains his recall. Poe can’t be sure exactly where he’s being held or how long he’s been here (though based upon the extremely thorough beating he’d received earlier - plus the colour of his bruises - suggest he’s been here a good couple of hours, at least.) All he knows at this point is that he’s been strapped to an extremely menacing, gurney-like steel table. The walls, floor, and ceiling around him also appear to be constructed of dull, dark steel. 

He gives his restraints a few half-hearted, perfunctory if experimental _yanks_ to test their strength. Yep – they’re ridiculously solid.

With a groan of disappointed frustration, Poe thumps his head back against the table and instantly regrets it when the pain in his skull becomes momentarily blinding. _How_ could he have forgotten to confirm ID on the hostages before he went barrelling in there to save them? No one had realized they were a smokescreen - F.O. soldiers disguised as the missing aid workers – until it was too late. The actual humanitarians are more than likely dead by now. Worse still, he has no idea whether or not his team had been successful in the mission to reclaim their supplies.

Poe clenches his fists and screws his eyes shut against the shame and the searing pain, panting shallowly under the sharp _stabs_ of one – no, two – at _least_ two broken ribs. The lightening that arcs across his shin as he fights against the threat of unconsciousness is a tad worrisome. The image of the black sole on an incongruously white boot swinging in a slow curve toward his foolishly unprotected leg briefly overwhelms him. If that _bastard_ broke his shin, he’s never gonna get out of here.

Not that there’s much chance he’ll get out of here at all, but it’s nice to dream.

Finally, his nerves stop shrieking quite as loudly, and his muscles go lax with exhaustion as he slumps back against the table. His head tilts to slump against the creepy fucking headrest. For a few moments, he just counts breaths and drifts, somewhere in between consciousness and sleep. 

Unbidden, his treacherous brain swings back around to his first conscious thought – of waking up to see Rey. In this place between asleep and awake, where the pain has retreated from all-consuming to _merely_ overwhelming, the image of her face wavers behind his eyelids. One moment, she looks down at him, dressed in scrubs and hair pulled back into the surgical cap she wore when they met. The next instant, she’s _smiling_ down at him, hair loose and curling around her jaw, his fingers buried in the silky strands. _Her lips part as she leans down_ – 

“I’m simultaneously disappointed and impressed, General Dameron.” 

Adrenaline _floods_ Poe’s limbs, and every joint locks with terror. The low, distorted voice at his back is something that’s only been whispered about in the Resistance. “No one has been able to get anything out of you.”

Poe instinctually tries for his default setting – cocky bravado. With a voice that grinds like wet gravel in his throat, he spits, “You might wanna rethink your technique…”

Disturbingly light – barely audible, even – footsteps begin to round the table, and the general tenses, trying to brace himself. The voice continues as if he’d never spoken. “Your endurance of pain has been formidable, yet you were stupid enough to fall into a trap so transparent, a child could have laid it.”

Poe strains at his peripherals, trying to catch a glimpse of the deeply ominous presence. Sweat prickles along his hairline, and despite himself, his breathing kicks up a notch as he hears the barely-there scrape of a boot to his right. His head lolls, fear clawing at his throat as a shadow seems to peel off from the rest of the room, looming before him until it finally comes into view. 

There have been rumours, but Poe had never put any stock into them. Now, the evidence is standing before him in all of its horror.

Word of the mask has spread through the Resistance and civilians alike. Nothing that’s been said or imagined, no story that’s been woven can compare to the reality.

Kylo Ren, chief psychopath of the First Order and nightmare in human form stands before him. The monster is only spoken of in fearful, hushed voices amongst the upper echelons of the Resistance. Now, Poe understands why.

He’s huge, standing well over six feet and nearly twice as broad as Poe. The architect of the worst of the First Order’s cruelty and malice is like a black silhouette that’s been punched out of the fabric of the room, darkness personified. Dressed in a pitch-black, stylized version of the uniform of a First Order officer, his face is completely covered with a horrific facsimile of a gas mask – all ebony and chrome and _sinister._

A silvery, grated air filter fits closely over his mouth and nose, and the harsh, mechanical breaths that sound through it run down Poe’s spine like ice water. The threatening man’s entire head is covered by the tight-fitting mask, and the neckline of his uniform is high enough to meet at the seams of the false visage. There is no visible skin. Not even his eyes are discernible behind the shielding, and somehow that’s the most disturbing feature of all.

If Poe’s going to die for the Resistance, he’d prefer to look his killer in the eye before he goes.

“If the rest of the Resistance is as – _pathetic_ – as you, then the First Order has already won.” The modulated voice echoes oddly in the small metal room.

Poe suddenly chokes on his breath, agony ripping through his ribs as he coughs up a bright red mouthful of blood. With a grisly grin, he spits it at his captor’s feet. “Seems like you don’t need me much then, huh Ren?”

The hulking figure prowls closer, pushing his masked face close to Poe’s as though examining him like a bug. There’s a long moment punctuated only by the distorted, mechanical breathing noises issuing from the wretched mask. “No, General Dameron. I think you will find, despite all your failings, that you will be – quite – useful to me.”

Poe tries to suppress a shudder of repulsion, snarling and jerking his head away from the masked man. It’s an abortive, unsuccessful movement which only serves to point his gaze in another direction, but at least he no longer has to _look_ at that fearful, blank countenance. “ _FUCK_ you,” he growls, bracing himself for the pain he’s sure will come with Ren’s response. Instead, he’s met with a robotic chuckle, so profoundly menacing that Poe’s entire body falls instantly cold. 

“We’ll – discover – your worth shortly, General,” Ren continues blandly, poised in stillness like a snake before it bites, “But first, tell me what you know about the _Lingchi._ ”

Poe’s terror is momentarily dampened by annoyance. “Jesus. _This_ is how you’re torturing people now?” he snarks, throat still wet with blood, “With _lectures_?”

This finally provokes the reaction he’d been expecting. For a time, his head reels from the heavy, gloved fist across his face, vision obscured by sparks and blackness. The voice continues, still disturbingly emotionless. “Have you ever heard the phrase: ‘death by a thousand cuts?’”

The general stills, alarm creeping over him. “The _Lingchi_ was a common form of execution for traitors in Imperial China and Vietnam. The practice involved the slow, meticulous - _flaying_ \- of the condemned." A horrible pause. "Some executioners became _Lingchi_ artists, prolonging the suffering of their victims over several days and _thousands_ of cuts. Ultimately, the goal of the procedure is the death of the traitor. The pain was merely an extension of death.”

There’s no doubt that Poe’s expression betrays naked dismay, and he can feel bile burning up his throat, mingling with the blood. The _terrifyingly_ blank figure is once again eerily still, his entire being focused on his prisoner. Poe feels exposed in a way he can’t protect against. “However, I am not interested in death,” Ren seems to somehow expand, taking up space in Poe’s field of vision, “I’ve made it my life’s work to study the effects of pain on the human psyche, particularly… when it comes to altering and regulating behaviour.”

“Is that so?” Poe asks, his voice shaking only slightly, “Published anything recently?”

Ren suddenly drops into a sort of hunched, menacing posture, somehow seeming to take up _even more space._ Poe’s frozen, staring at him with the sudden _terror_ of someone who realizes they can’t predict their opponent’s moves. He’s a rabbit, and Kylo Ren is a wolf. Then, with surprising swiftness, the masked man is once again moving around him with a detached kind of grace, gathering items and placing them maddeningly outside of Poe’s view.

The flat, mechanically regulated speech unfortunately also returns. “I am going to take what I want from you, Dameron. Let’s begin.”

The masked man appears at the edge of his vision on his right-hand side. It seems as though he’s preparing an IV line. “With – extensive – testing, I’ve succeeded in refining my method to a level of excellence and consistency that’s never been achieved before.”

Violently, Poe _flinches_ away from the beast’s gloved hands, twisting his arm as far as the restraints will allow. One huge, black paw descends on his forearm like an anvil. The strength in Ren’s hand is truly terrifying, and Poe finds himself being _forced_ into stillness with little apparent effort on his tormentor’s part. Sharp, clean pain _pierces_ through the all-over ache as the IV needle pushes through his skin and into the vein.

With an ease that suggests legitimate medical training, Ren finishes setting up the drip, ignoring Poe's snarls and attempts to move away. There’s something about the way he… talks? moves? that is especially unsettling, but Poe can’t quite put his finger on it. A sharp _tug_ on the line directs his attention back to his captor. “ _This,_ ” he explains, “Will administer a cocktail of several tranquilizers that I’ve perfected over the course of my… studies.”

The dark figure disappears behind Poe for a long moment, and every bit of him _strains_ to hear what he might be doing. All of a sudden, the vacant mask is on Poe’s left, prepping another drip. “And this will administer amphetamines.”

Helplessly, he is once again submitted to the IV. Unexpectedly, Poe realizes why he finds this man so acutely disturbing. The way he explains what he’s doing... His calm methodical movements… _Ren reminds him of Rey._ It’s like being doused in liquid nitrogen, and his brain _immediately_ shies away from the thought. 

The soft _clip, clip, clip_ of scissors follows the completion of the drip, as the massive man begins to calmly cut off his shirt, speaking as mildly as if he’d been ordering a coffee instead of describing his Super Secret Torture Method.™ 

“I have a great debt to pay. For my success. The _Lingchi_ artists began what I’ve finished. I honour them by continuing their work.”

Every molecule of breath _freezes_ in Poe’s lungs at the clear implication. This man, this _demon,_ intends to drug him and _flay him alive_ until he gives up everything. His eyes dart frantically up to the mask now looming above him, desperately searching for a single sign of humanity. The blank, black horror-show betrays not a single hint. 

A desperate, helpless kind of rage swells up with the fear, and breath stutters past his lips as he pants _once, twice,_ then spits, “The Resistance… will not… be _intimidated_ by you…”

But the words die in his throat as Kylo Ren produces a long, wickedly sharp-looking, black-bladed scalpel, seemingly from nowhere. The blade looks oddly glassy, glinting with fearful malice. Without warning, Poe’s vision suddenly begins to darken, muscles going lax all at once. With dawning terror, he realizes that the sedatives in the first drip have begun to take effect and he’s unnaturally relaxed. It's a feeling almost like being _trapped_ in his own body.

As if in slow motion, Poe watches the _dangerously_ sharp tool descend toward his exposed chest. The voice from the mask sounds impossibly louder and deeper, vibrating through his skull like a slow-motion jackhammer. “This is an obsidian blade: the finest, most precise scalpel in existence. The artist’s paintbrush if you will, and you’re my canvas.”

At first, it feels like little more than _pressure_ against the skin of his upper chest. It’s almost _fascinating_ to watch the blade slide into and along his flesh, its edge so fine that it takes many moments for blood to begin seeping up in its path. It’s as if the sight of the bright crimson of his own blood flips a switch in his brain, the pain flaring up like a path of fire behind the scalpel. Poe grunts, twitching, unable to escape the hurt.

Yet the meds also make him feel oddly detached from it, almost like he could live in the burn if he had to. He can feel his brain begin to retreat from the agony, riding out the waves of searing pain. He watches as Kylo Ren delicately peels the first strip of skin from the top of his pectoral – he can _feel_ it, the biting pain, the horror, _bone-deep,_ but it’s almost as though it’s happening to someone else.

“Practitioners of the _Lingchi_ have argued for centuries over whether it’s better to begin cutting on the extremities or the torso, but given the _value_ of the information you hold, I think we’ll… go big or go home.” The monstrous man continues to work, ignoring Poe’s grunts and gasps of pain. 

“The barbiturates currently circulating your bloodstream are suppressing your central nervous system, lowering your inhibitions. Making you more susceptible; suggestible. They have the added benefit of muscle relaxation, which does make my work, well – less _complex,_ for the moment.”

He peels another strip of flesh.

Poe’s stomach roils in horror, his breathing becoming laboured and slower as the edges of his vision blur and blacken still further. Ren’s careful blade continues to _slice, slice, slice._ “Unfortunately, as you may have begun to notice, large doses of barbiturates can slow the breathing enough to cause unconsciousness, coma, and eventual death. 

Everything’s closing in on him, the pressure on his lungs becoming slowly unbearable as the world grows dark. That horrible, _nightmarish_ voice pierces through the darkness, chilling on an entirely new level. “That is where the stimulants come in.”

With a heady, disorienting _rush_ , vision painfully returns to Poe, followed by the feeling of his heart rabbiting so frantically in his chest he fears it might burst. Ren begins another cut, and this time, the pain is _exquisite._ It’s acute, as if his very _cells_ are on fire, and he has no defence against the immolation. His body _arches_ off the table as every muscle clenches in a rictus of pain, and he can’t help the ragged scream that’s ripped from his throat.

As Ren continues to slice, Poe can barely hear the continued monologue over his own screams. Nonetheless, every word lands with cold certainty and perfect clarity in his brain. “Four days ago, you and your troops sought medical treatment at a Red Cross Clinic near Lai Chau City. Apparently, the traitor's life was saved by a _girl._ ”

Poe roars as the scalpel cuts deepen, as Ren moves in steady parallel lines down Poe’s pectoral. “You know where she is. You will give her to me. _Where_ is Rey Skywalker?”

Poe’s screams reach a new pitch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feel free to send me a message on tumblr at find-me-a-grave-man if you need to talk.


	9. Let it Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey kicks so much ass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! If you haven't gotten a chance to read my Damerey one shot "Where Are We Going", I'd love it if you'd check it out! 
> 
> I'm splitting my writing time between this and lighter fare, and I wanted your votes on which plot bunny to follow next.
> 
> In the comments below, please let me know which of the following you'd prefer to read first:
> 
> -A/B/O Damerey AU  
> -Speed (1994 film) Damerey AU  
> -Top Gun Damerey AU
> 
> WARNINGS:  
> Aftermath of torture  
> Explosives  
> Mentions/References to past abuse (Rey)  
> Blood

Rey pauses for breath, feeling the struggle for oxygen that comes at higher elevations. Her fingers have long since gone numb, and her arms and legs are beginning to tremble with fatigue, but at least she’s nearly at her destination. It’s been far too long since Rey’s had the chance to work out this particular set of muscles. With a deep inhale through her nose, she risks a glance down over her shoulder at the scene spread out below her.

Dusk has fallen across the pass, the sun hidden behind the mountain opposite – all of the greenery now appears blue-black in the twilight. No more than ten meters below where she clings like a bug to the precipitous, plant-covered slope, the mouth of the Po Sum Cap Caves is lit up brighter than a football stadium at night. Every floodlight is directed out, toward the mouth of the pass, directly across from Rey’s position above the cave entrance.

All scopes, rifles, and eyes are likewise pointed away from her. She’s happy to press any advantage she’s given, and so she’s chosen her method of infiltration appropriately. Turning back to the task at hand, she double-checks her footing, kicking her toe into a small divot in the rock a couple of times to ensure its stability. It’s nothing for her to find a lower foothold, and its only moments before she’s fallen into the rhythm of the climb again.

Of all the unwelcome souvenirs she’s brought with her from her old life into the new, the only trait she doesn’t resent is her skill at climbing. The days and nights of her childhood had been filled with endless stimuli, very little of it good, so whenever she’d been sent to climb the walls of the canyon, she’d relished the relative silence and time alone with her thoughts. The singular physical and mental act of climbing helps her focus to this day.

Reaching the bottom of the sheer gradient, Rey silently drops down to a small ledge, edging along until it widens out into a gentle incline directly over top of the entrance. Rubble and dirt have been piled above the extended entranceway in a clumsy attempt at concealing it in the natural slope of the mountain. Surprisingly, the jungle has finished the job of concealment for them – it’s already encroaching on the smooth rise.

Further up, Rey spots her eventual goal – a square metal ventilation shaft jutting up out of the rock. Smirking to herself, she turns away from the shaft and crosses to the lip of the artificial cave mouth, easily concealed by the intruding flora. Swiftly, she slings the borrowed pack off her back, pulling out two explosive charges, both of which she places near the centre of the slope over the huge door.

Laying out flat on her stomach, she grasps the lip of the door and pokes her head out to take a quick, upside-down look at the door itself. She’s shocked to see that, at the moment, it stands open. Perhaps they’re expecting the delivery of more supplies. That there could be a worse possibility – they might be preparing to move the General, for example – occurs to Rey, but she refuses to entertain it.

She flips back up out of view as swiftly as a wink, rolling onto her back so that she can consider her options, staring blindly at the first few stars winking into view above her. She’d glimpsed a few jeeps and motorbikes parked mere meters from the entrance, and considering that she’ll have no idea of the general’s condition until she finds him, she files that knowledge away as a potential means of escape.

Taking a moment or two to plan, she mentally catalogues her supplies. In her rucksack are several more charges, remote detonators, and enough fuse and plastique to cause a lot of chaos, should she run out of her – _borrowed_ – Resistance explosives. In addition to the supplies in the pack, she has a machete, multi-tool, grenades, and coils and coils of light, thin, high-performance rope strapped to her person. Not to mention the knife in her boot.

Her mind keeps circling back to the idea of causing chaos and anarchy. She experiences a powerful surge of rage and vindictive pleasure at the thought. It also gives her an idea.

In a flash, she’s collected her things and set the remote detonators on the charges above the door. Swiftly and silently, she makes her way away from the entrance, heading uphill towards the ventilation shaft. It’s less than a meter across, too narrow for even an average-sized man to struggle through, but an easy fit for Rey’s slim frame. Larger chunks of rubble are piled up around the opening of the shaft, almost as if in another lazy attempt at concealment.

Their supreme overconfidence is kind of staggering, and for a second she’s carried away on daydreams of small, covert teams infiltrating and dismantling countless poorly secured and hidden F.O. bases. She gives her head a little shake, redirecting her attention to the matter at hand: not some idealistic fantasy resulting from her unconventional upbringing. Unfastening the lead of one of her climbing lines, she secures it around the largest boulder.

She stands at the cusp of the shaft, casting her eye once more over the defences around the cave mouth. With a grin, she grasps one of the grenades fastened to her borrowed belt. Taking careful aim, she pulls the pin and _lobs_ the explosive with all her might at the nearest guard tower. With a small _hop,_ she drops into the vertical tunnel, an explosion following the instant she’s out of sight.

Before she can fall too far, Rey catches herself by bracing both feet and hands on opposite walls of the pipe. In this way, she slowly inches downward, the rope a mere precautionary measure should she lose her footing. The shaft darkens rapidly only a few meters down, and Rey is forced to rely on her sense of touch more and more. Her breath picks up, the squeezing darkness terribly familiar.

To try and calm herself, she focuses on what she’s come here to do: rescue a good man from the clutches of an evil one. She knows better than anyone what Kylo Ren was capable of as a younger man; she doesn’t even want to _speculate_ on what he might be like now. Luckily, she doesn’t have long to dwell on that chilling thought, as the shaft reaches a sharp intersection. Just below her feet, it opens into a typical rectangular metal ventilation system.

Carefully, she lowers herself into it, boots landing softly on the thin metal. She crouches down and slides to her stomach again, spreading her weight in case the vents aren’t securely fastened. As quietly as possible, she scoots forward into a shaft of light emanating from below. It’s a metal grate, and she peers down through it. Beneath, the caves open up, completely deserted as far as she can tell.

It seems to be a sort of passageway between the larger chambers of the cave. With a quick look at the vent around her, she determines that the only way out is down. Digging her nails under the seams of the grate, she carefully lifts it away, depositing on the far side of the gap. She leaves one rope tied there, connecting to the top of the shaft should she need to consider it as a route of escape.

As she drops down into the dimly lit cave, goosebumps erupt over her flesh, the cool air _biting_ after the heat of the jungle. The caves smell damp and earthy, and they echo with the soft drip of water. Slight hints of sulfur linger in the air. _Down,_ she thinks, and begins to follow the slight slope descending deeper into the cave system. 

She doesn’t encounter anyone, but she can distantly hear a huge hubbub behind her, so it seems that her grenade indeed worked to create a distraction. Around her, crates and boxes are stacked in every available nook and cranny. Despite the urgency of her mission, she takes the time to read labels as she flits past, automatically committing the contents to memory.

On silent footsteps, she descends, the constant echo and trickle of water following behind. As the tunnel drops lower and lower, the grafted infrastructure she’s observed all along begins to become sparse. The lights strung above become dimmer and farther apart, some flickering with age. It’s likely that this wiring remains from when these caverns were nothing more sinister than a tourist attraction.

Before too long, Rey can see the quality of light change ahead of her. The echoes are louder here, and it’s obvious that she’s heading toward a larger cavern. She slows as she approaches the open maw of the cave, mindful of her continued stealth. Hugging the passage wall, she presses close enough to the opening that she can get a quick lay of the land.

The cavity is comparatively huge, floor and ceiling leaden with the fantastic sci-fi shapes of mineral deposits, stalactites and stalagmites glinting enticingly in the semi-darkness. In the center of it all squats an ugly black box, the approximate size and volume of a standard shipping container. It’s being guarded by two stormtroopers in their ridiculous white body armour.

Then, she notices the power box less than a foot above her head. Most of the power for this area seems to be running through it despite the dim lights – and Rey can see how the pipes shielding the wiring lead down to the menacing box. She digs the smallest charge from her pack, setting it with a remote detonater. It’s almost too easy.

Rey hesitates for a moment, heart pounding. Considering the light guard, the relatively unsecured high-status prisoner, and the absolute lack of personnel within the base, she pretty certain this is a trap. For her. It’s sickening to consider, but she’s literally run to the ends of the earth to escape Kylo Ren – a scheme this complex is most assuredly not beyond him.

A grim smirk spreads over her face as she considers her options. It may be true that this is indeed a set-up – but a trap only works when properly sprung. Swifter than a blink, Rey scoops a large-ish pebble from the floor of the passage and _chucks_ it across to the far side of the cavern. It lands with a spectacular _rattle._ As Rey peeks inside again, she can see that the far ‘trooper is already moving to inspect the noise.

She slips silently into the large open space, ducking behind jagged outcrops and mineral spikes until she’s practically on top of the other guard. Feeling a little petty, she sneaks up behind them and gives a sharp _tap_ to their left shoulder. Rey ducks quickly to the right before popping up directly in front of the soldier. The stormtrooper’s last conscious sight is a bright, snarky grin and a flying fist.

As soon as the guard’s been incapacitated, she leaps lightly up, catching onto the lip of the box with barely more than a rustle. Agile as a cat, she pulls herself atop it. She can hear the other guard returning, her modulated voice bouncing around the cave as she reports back to her unknowingly unconscious comrade. Rey watches quietly above, muscles coiled, tense and ready.

“RK?” she hears the guard call. 

“RK-1432! Respond!” sharper and closer.

The instant Rey sees the white helmet round the corner and stop in its tracks, she pounces. Both ‘trooper and doctor go down with a _clatter_ of polymer armour, Rey with her arms around the other’s neck. Flexing up under the seam of the helmet, she effectively cuts off blood flow to the brain. As the soldier’s struggles cease, she eases off the pressure – Rey’s looking for incapacitation, not murder. 

That’s both guards down.

Now, she must contend with a door and whatever’s beyond it.

A swift, calculated examination of the locking mechanism proves that it’s electromagnetically sealed. Reaching into her pocket, she extracts her multitool, flicking open the small knife as she brings it around. She uses it to unscrew the panel over the lock; with a few stripped, clipped, and crossed wires, it takes her no more than a few moments to reverse the polarity. The mechanism instantly releases.

Rey pauses for a breath, watching as the heavy metal door falls open a few inches. Steeling herself for the worst, she grabs it and swings it wide. Unfortunately, there’s no way Rey could have prepared herself for what she finds inside. 

It’s decked out like a high-tech operating suite. Instead of a standard gurney at its heart, an adjustable metal slab bristling with restraints waits like some sort of vile monster. She takes a cautious step inside, and then it hits her.

The stench of blood and antiseptic hangs heavy in the air. The sheer _despair_ of the place is so intense it’s nearly tangible. It feels almost as though she has to trudge through it like thick, oozing mud.

This is a mobile torture chamber.

Rey chokes on the realization. It freezes her in place, horror ricocheting through every fragment of her heart. Her body feels like it wants to physically _reject_ the knowledge that a man she’d once – “He’s bad… he’s _bad,_ ” she repeats under her breath, unaware she’s speaking aloud.

“But _this_ …”

She’s answered by a muffled moan. Her feet move forward without her permission, circling the terrifying table. 

Rey slaps a hand tight over her mouth to keep from crying out. 

Poe Dameron lies strapped to the heinous device, semiconscious and _damaged._

Her eyes track rapidly over his body, clinically cataloguing injuries. The shallow way he breathes definitely suggests the presence of broken ribs, and the slight gurgle that accompanies each inhale immediately has her worrying about internal injuries, collapsed lungs, bleeding… That and the gigantic fucking black and blue boot print in his side. Multiple contusions and abrasions litter his arms and torso, but her observation wrenches to a halt as it reaches his chest.

Fingers now digging into her own jaw hard enough to bruise, she muffles a _sob_ behind her hand. His wounds have been tended to, more or less, in that he’s been given cursory care. This so-called treatment is clearly designed to do nothing more than to prolong his suffering, to prevent his body from succumbing to infection or shock too soon.

Dressings that are reddened, nearly saturated with blood cover most of his left pectoral below the clavicle and extend up almost as far as the front of the rotator cuff. Further to that, his fine hair is matted with blood; shallow cuts have been allowed to freely bleed beneath his right eye and on his forehead. Almost unwillingly, she reaches out towards the bandage. Something itches at the back of her skull, and she pauses, fingertips hovering centimeters from the sodden dressing.

Some instinct prompts her to revisit those cuts on his face, examining them more closely. They’re oddly… precise.

A pair of soft brown eyes unexpectedly open wide, and Rey nearly flinches back. It takes a moment for his gaze to focus on her face, but the look of bright, pure recognition that soon follows _sears_ into her bones like an iron brand, permanently imprinting itself on her. 

“ _Rey,_ ” he gasps, the word laced with pain.

Something in her cracks. It’s the first time he’s called her by name. Hearing it fall from his lips on a tide of misery sort of makes her want to die. Viciously, she bites the feeling back, fixing her expression in an image of calm control.

“Yes, General. It’s – Rey,” she confirms, her voice surprisingly steady. “I’ve come to rescue you.”

They stare at each other for a few seconds, Poe’s short, pained breaths punctuating the silence.

“ _WHAT,_ ” he growls, and sucks in a breath. It's no doubt to start protesting, but it catches in his throat and he dissolves into weak coughs. 

The air wheezes out of him, his body curling protectively over his injured ribs as far as the restraints allow. Rey immediately bursts into movement, quickly disabling the heavy locks with the press of a button she finds on the side of the table. She experiences another surge of smugness in counterpoint to her overall fear and adrenaline.

She gently catches him as his body tips toward her. “I’m going to get you out whether you like it or not, General,” she _huffs_ as she ducks under his right arm, careful not to jostle the damage on his left side. 

Another short pause is allowed while Poe regains his breath, but spikes of anxiety are beginning to stab through her. Any horrors that the general has suffered are not enough to kick years of militant conditioning for long. She’s already noticed that the faint hubbub she’d heard earlier from near the entrance has suddenly grown dangerously close.

“Do you think you can walk?” she asks, her voice beginning to shake with tension.

His answer comes out more like a groan than actual speech, but Rey can recognize an affirmative when she hears one. “Alright,” she mutters, eyeing the entrance to the cavern, where she’s beginning to see bouncing lights and eerily dancing shadows followed by the sounds of many feet. “This is going to seem insane, but you have to trust me.”

She doesn’t give him a chance to respond, only slips her right hand into the pocket of her borrowed pants to grasp the detonator switch. She closes her eyes, already counting down. “Don’t let go of me, no matter what.”

“What?” Poe says, and Rey hits the switch.

A small blast echoes red-hot from the entranceway as the chamber is plunged into total darkness.

The subterranean space immediately erupts with noise, but Rey can still hear Poe’s panicked, painful gasps in her ear. She squeezes his hand as reassuringly as she can, but keeps still, eyes closed, listening to the chaos around them. 

She counts.

Rey opens her eyes, dashing into the fray with Poe at her side. Right now, she’s relying on a complicated combination of senses and instinct to navigate. The general clings to her as hard as he’s able, his gasps and cries of pain at each sudden movement inconsequential in the overall din.

If Rey weren’t so actively terrified, she’d probably be laughing at the slapstick comedy unfolding around them. The explosive had gone off precisely when an entire battalion of stormtroopers began to _pour_ into the cavern. Because she’s prepped herself, her eyes have already adjusted to the dark. Though they’re mere shapes in the blackness, their white armour makes them easy to spot as they blunder around, stumbling into one another.

She works her way through them, dodge by heart-stopping _dodge_ until they’re fleeing back up the passageway, tripping towards the light. The general is trying to say something between heaving gasps, but she can’t really make out his words. It turns out not to matter much, when he’s interrupted by a chilling, inhuman _roar_ from the caverns at their backs.

They explode out into the vestibule of the cave mouth, which has thankfully been nearly emptied of troops. The guard tower she’d sabotaged earlier is still smouldering, and most of the remaining personnel have their eyes on it. The terrible roar lengthens and reverberates behind them, and Rey casts a panicked glance over the clearing. She skids to a stop near the first motorcycle she sees.

Poe’s slowly beginning the descent into unconsciousness, so she _drags_ him over to the vehicle, _slinging_ him onto the back of the seat so she can climb in front. Most of his weight sags against her back when he sluggishly wraps his arms around her middle, but she ignores the hot bulk of his naked chest pressed into her. A sharp _hiss_ of pain is all she hears from him as she revs the engine.

In a quick stroke of genius, Rey lifts the remaining coil of lightweight cord from her torso and wraps it around them both, effectively securing his body to hers should he pass out. Suddenly, the roar from the deep cuts off, and she can hear the approaching boots that had been inaudible under the noise. Her stomach leaps into her throat, and with a high _whine_ of the engine, she _guns_ it toward the mouth of the pass.

Just before they reach it, Rey skids to stop, risking a glance backward.

She turns to look _right at him._

Kylo Ren stands at the mouth of the cave. Even though his eyes aren’t visible, she can feel his gaze on her like a spotlight. He hunches, hulking muscles obvious beneath his finely tailored uniform, and _screams her name._

Her fingers once again find the remote detonator switch, and she stares at him stonily, teeth clenched in a feral snarl as she presses the switch and the mountain comes roaring down around him.


	10. Tastes Like

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poe makes it out the other side, and it leads to some revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I'm sorry this took so long but *shrug* life?) Anyway to make up for it, there's now a chapter count :)
> 
> Content Warnings:
> 
> Brief description of flaying injuries  
> Hints of past trauma (Rey)  
> Dissociation in response to trauma  
> Language  
> Mentions of torture

Consciousness is _much_ kinder to Poe this time around. It comes slowly and gently, awareness filtering in through the darkness. There’s very little ambient noise, not even the sound of medical monitors, and when he opens his eyes, the light is dim and soft. He’s looking up at a stone ceiling, covered with a soft blanket, and a line of warmth is pressed down his arm.

He risks a slow, deep breath in. His ribs shift and grind a little, and the skin of his chest pulls and burns. It’s definitely not comfortable, but it’s incomparably better than the agony of before. 

His eyelids fall slowly shut several times.

There’s no telling if any time has passed between blinks or not. He’s remarkably calm, the memories of what he’s just been through crystal clear, but somehow distant. Almost as though they happened to someone else.

The strange detachment is odd, but not something he’s willing to examine further.

More time passes.

The stone ceiling is still there.

Fuck. He’s lucky to be alive. 

Poe had been prepared to give his life for the Resistance – had even wished for, _begged_ for death while that monster peeled the flesh from his body – but Jesus fucking Christ _he’s still here._ And it’s entirely thanks to the most incredible, enigmatic woman he’s ever set eyes on. Honestly, he’s still unsure if it wasn’t all a dream. 

When he’d opened his eyes in that awful place to see Rey’s face, Poe had been _sure_ he’d died. Dressed in borrowed Resistance fatigues and loaded up with enough gear to make an action hero cry, she’d appeared like some kind avenging angel out of the darkness. She’d been – holy fuck, she’d been incredible, almost chillingly adept in extracting him from the enemy base.

The escape had passed in a blur of pain and semi consciousness, large portions of it blacked out from his memory. Then again, he could… _remember_ blackness. Rey had… had guided him through the inky dark - dodging foes like a ghost, like she had some kind of extra sense – and out into the blinding light. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to describe it as a kind of… rebirth.

Poe opens his eyes again, no idea how long it’s been. He finally begins to wonder where he is, exactly. He should probably be panicking. He ought to still be feeling the terror and confusion and pain of his interrogation and subsequent escape, but he feels oddly… safe.

Looking around with mild interest, the general eventually tilts his gaze down to investigate the warmth along his arm. The sight makes him catch his breath.

It’s Rey.

She’s deeply asleep. Her left forearm is pressed along his right arm, and her right hand is lightly curled in his. Her hair is loose, flared out around her head like a tangled halo. Every bit of her face is visible to his hungry gaze, almost as if she’d fallen asleep watching over him. Her cheeks are faintly flushed with sleep, tendrils of brown curls stirred by the breath between her lightly parted lips.

Her cheekbone rests on his forearm.

Poe can’t move. It’s a little like that roller coaster feeling again – fear mixed with excitement. Her skin is impossibly soft against his, her thick eyelashes lightly tangling with the sparse hair on his arm. He sucks in another breath, heedless of the pain in his chest. She shifts slightly, a soft sound escaping her lips.

Blood rushes in his ears. Her beauty is undeniable, but more than that, it feels like just being near her is somehow addictive. Waking up next to her makes him feel more alive than he has in - fuck, he can't even remember the last time.

He watches her unabashedly, putting aside the shame he knows he’ll feel later just so he can take this chance to look his fill. In fact – his heart seizes a little bit – he’s going to have to make sure he _never_ gets this chance again. There's so much _more_ going on with this woman than he’s even begun to parse out, and somewhere in the mess is apparently Kylo Ren. Poe shouldn’t want to touch her with a ten-foot pole. 

For now, however, in this quiet dark place that might be less than a dream, he gives in. Poe stares greedily, eyes tracing the slope of her nose: the way it almost turns up impishly at the end. Rey’s lips – pink and ripe and sweet – curve up naturally at the corners. She must smile often, despite everything.

He wants to count every freckle that dusts across her cheeks, wants to bury his fingers in her soft coffee-coloured locks. For an instant, he finally allows himself to feel it, acknowledge it – the unbelievable physical _craving_ that’s taken up residence in his core, boiling beneath his flesh since their eyes first met. If there was nothing in the world but the two of them, he’d take her in his arms and kiss her until those pink lips were bitten red and swollen, until she had nothing left to say but his name.

He twitches involuntarily, his body _keening_ to touch. It’s an unbelievable effort of will to push the feeling away, but he can’t afford to be weak for more than a moment. So, gently, he begins to pull his arm from her grip. It hurts to his core; hurts almost like he’s _physically tearing_ himself from her grasp.

Suddenly, Rey inhales sharply, deeply. A soft moan follows as she begins to stir and awaken. Poe freezes, his entire being flushing with heat despite his pain. She rolls her head loosely against his arm, lips briefly brushing across his skin like a hot coal. He bites back a gasp.

Her luminous hazel eyes blink open muzzily. All of a sudden, she bolts upright, fully aware. She jerks her hands away. A bright red flush creeps up her neck, cheekbones flaring and freckles darkening. Her expression, however, is completely cool when she meets his gaze. 

“ _General,_ ” she murmurs, voice rough with sleep in a way that thrills up his spine, “You’re awake.”

She stands, her fingers already fluttering over his body – a detached, clinical assessment that unfortunately still manages to light up his nerves like a Christmas tree. Goosebumps erupt everywhere her hands land. He opens his mouth, letting it hang open stupidly as he tries to come up with something to say. She huffs out a little laugh, mystifying him further.

“Sorry,” she explains, laugh still evident in her voice, “My hands are always freezing. It’s a curse for a doctor.”

Oh. The goosebumps. Poe _wishes_ he was cold. She passes a finger slowly across his field of vision, no doubt gauging pupillary reactions and focus. “How are you feeling?” she asks, businesslike once again.

Poe finally finds his words, but they aren’t an answer to her question. “Why is Kylo Ren looking for you, doc?”

His voice is slightly muted, unsupported as it is by his injured ribs, but it’s also flat and numb in a way that isn’t natural. Somewhere, buried deep below this unusual calm, Poe knows he’ll find panic there, fear and burning anger. Against all of his better judgement, he’d allowed her, this unknown element, unprecedented access to the lives and safety of the people he’s responsible for. He – _fuck_ – he doesn’t have it _in him_ to believe that she might somehow be involved with the First Order, but if she’s significant to them, then it’s on Poe’s head if anyone, including Rey, gets hurt. He’s the one who allowed to her to become mixed up in all this, after all.

Surprisingly, his question prompts very little reaction from the young doctor. For a moment, he’s not even sure she’s heard him. She continues her examination, eyes not meeting his. “My immediate priority is your health, General," she eventually states, "We’ll talk about it once you’ve told me how you’re feeling.”

It’s _ire_ that finally penetrates his emotional haze. Poe could swear that it’s Dr. Skywalker’s sole purpose in life to constantly undermine him. In any other circumstance, it would be impossible force meets immovable object, but something about her always throws him off his game. “What do _you_ think? I’ve just been tortured, doc,” he growls, wishing she would just look at him, “And I’d like to think I deserve to know _why._ ”

A terrible stillness comes over her, almost as if he’d stunned her. He watches warily, waiting like a child about to punished, before he realizes that her hands have frozen in the process of removing the dressings on his chest. 

Shit. 

Suddenly, a heaping serving of the panic he’d been unable to feel before now pours down his throat, and his heart _seizes._ The moment expands, taut like a drum. Poe can’t breathe.

“If you let me finish my exam,” she eventually says, voice little above a whisper, “I’ll tell you why… _this_ is my fault.”

The last four words are laced with exhaustion and deep devastation. Finally, her eyes meet his. The remarkably soft hazel brims with tears, dark eyelashes clumping with moisture and brows drawn together with hurt. It isn’t until his palm lands hot on her flesh that he even realizes he’s reached for her. 

She freezes like a frightened gazelle, arrested by his touch at her bare shoulder. Despite every fragment of him that’s still vibrating with suspicion and fear at her continued evasion, he can’t help himself – he needs to reassure her. “I’m hurt and confused, doc,” he finds himself saying, “I’m not mad… I’m afraid.”

The young doctor nods tightly, tears still standing in her eyes. It seems to take a few moments for her to gather herself enough to speak again, and that reaction, more than any other, is what shocks Poe. He hasn’t known her long, but he’s never seen her shy away from hard truths. Despite the pain _burning_ across his chest, he doesn’t move his hand from her shoulder.

Rey doesn’t move to brush it off.

“I promise, I’ll tell you… Just, please, let me make sure you’re going to be alright.”

The exhale that escapes his lungs is shakier than he’d like. Pins and needles race from his ruined chest up his arm. Ultimately, his hand finally drops numbly from the doctor’s shoulder. Blackness blooms across his vision at the bolt of pain that rattles through his bones. Then, Poe’s abruptly jolted back from the agony by the icy brand of her fingers on his skin again. She has a hand on each of his shoulders, holding him steady as she instructs him to breathe, “Just _breathe,_ General...”

When he’s able to look at her again, several tears have escaped and tracked their way down her cheeks. Rey looks absolutely distraught, but as soon as he’s calmed down, she continues to examine him without pause. Poe cuts her some slack, lying still and quiet while she changes his dressings. He looks away from her work, finding he can’t bring himself to witness the damage that Ren has wreaked upon his body. 

Instead, he watches the young doctor’s face. He’d never admit it, but he’s a little bereft that its Rey who’s seeing him like this – helpless and victimized... Not that he’d allowed himself to follow certain lines of thought about how he would have preferred for her to see him with his shirt off. Definitely not. Still, he can’t help the shame and disgust that boil up in his stomach, sour like bile as she tends to the tattered remnants of his flesh. 

If he hadn’t gone in half-cocked, as is fast becoming a dangerous habit of his, he never would have been captured in the first place. At that, a thought suddenly occurs to him: “How did you know where to find me anyway?” he squints at her suspiciously. “You shouldn’t have even _heard_ about my capture…” 

He pauses shortly. “Who do I need to demote?”

To Poe’s secret delight, Rey snorts out an ungainly little chuckle at that. “Your cook.”

She glances at him sideways, suppressing a grin. “And Finn. Somehow I don’t think you’ll be demoting either of them…”

The short laugh that Poe barks out hurts his ribs, but it’s worth it. “Nope,” he manages to grunt, “We’d all starve if we lost Maz, and Finn…”

The general pauses, throat suddenly tight. “Finn’s my best friend,” he finishes quietly, just as she finally disposes of his old bandages.  
Their eyes lock for a long moment. It’s difficult to interpret Rey’s expression, but if he had to take a guess, he’d say she’s – unsurprised. Fuck. She doesn’t miss a trick, does she?

“Maz,” she starts, licking her lips a little nervously, “Maz was how I heard about your capture... But I came after you because of Finn. He told me it was Kylo Ren who took you.”

He searches her face, looking beneath the anxiety there to something deeper – a real _terror_ – naked in her eyes. “You – you _know_ him, somehow,” he states, the words loud in the room despite his near-whisper, “Don’t you?”

Rey’s throat visibly bobs as she swallows. She looks away, casting her gaze downwards as she nods. “Yes.”

Her voice is dry, her hands shake where they clutch tightly together atop his blankets. “We were – colleagues.”

He lets the silence sit, waiting. There’s no way he’s settling for that weak pronouncement. She glances up at him, sighing resignedly when she catches a glimpse of his expression. “He was – he was Luke Skywalker’s protege. His successor. When I began studying under Luke-” 

_Whoa._

“I assisted with their research. When Dr. Skywalker and I realized what he intended to do with our data… Luke made me take the rest of our work and destroy it. I – I haven’t seen Ren since that day…”

She inhales as if to continue, but it’s as though she’s suddenly been petrified. Her gaze fixes on a point somewhere far outside their little bubble of quiet. Poe counts far too many heartbeats before she releases the breath. “When Ren found out what I’d done, it was…” Rey trails off, apparently lost for words, unable to articulate what she’d witnessed. 

Knowing what he now personally knows about Kylo Ren, Poe isn’t surprised. Jesus. She must be _terrified_ of him. How had she found the courage to waltz right into the lion’s den and steal his prize right out from underneath his masked nose?

“I imagine Ren’s interested in finding out whether or not I continued with our research,” she eventually shrugs, a near-perfect _imitation_ of a casual gesture. “Of course I didn’t. After that, I immediately switched my focus to emergency surgery. I couldn’t have my work used for evil again.”

Poe chews on the inside of his cheek for a moment. “Skywalker. He’s… no one’s seen him in years, doc. What the hell happened to him?” _What the hell happened to **you**?_ he desperately wants to scream.

She shakes her head, still not looking at Poe. “I don’t know,” she whispers. “I _wish_ I knew.”

He watches her carefully for a few moments more, wondering whether he’ll ever reach the cool water in the deep - perhaps bottomless - well of her past. Risking quite a bit on nothing more than a hunch, Poe opens up his big mouth again, spilling possibly the biggest Resistance secret in the name of finding out more about this woman. “You know, the head of the Global Resistance might be interested in knowing that her niece is caught up in the fighting in Vietnam.”

The young woman gapes at him in shock. “Leia?! _She’s_ the lead– ” Rey cuts herself off, clearly having caught on to what Poe’s just made her reveal: that she didn’t just study under Luke Skywalker. 

Rey’s his daughter.

Rey narrows her eyes at him, once again all distrust and defensiveness, closer to the woman he first met, only days ago. It wasn’t his intention to make her feel threatened, but he understands the response, nonetheless. After Poe stews for a while under some of her intensely uncomfortable scrutiny, she seems to hit _fuck it._ Rey slumps down with a fatalistic sigh, gesturing defeatedly at him to continue.

“How come no one ever knew about you?” he asks quietly.

She seems a little surprised with herself when she answers him. “I – he didn’t adopt me until I was sixteen. I was only with him for a few years before he was just… gone. He disappeared before I’d even finished my residency.”

It doesn’t really answer his question, but Poe decides to let it lie in favour of watching Rey’s emotions chase each other across her expression like clouds on a blustery day. Her features ultimately settle into a harsh scowl. “I’m _so sorry_ that this happened to you because of me,” she whispers, her words harsh and full of self-blame. 

Poe’s traitorous heart _wrenches_ at the pain and guilt in her voice. 

“I can’t even properly care for your wounds here, General. I brought you back to the citadel, but everyone’s gone. There’s… no one left. It’s been abandoned.”

Despite the anxiety in her tone, Poe actually sighs with relief. “Don’t worry doc,” assures her, “It’s Resistance policy to abandon the base if its location might be compromised. It’s likely they’re already at the next location.”

She nods, still looking miserable. 

“Alright,” he sighs, “We need to talk more about Kylo Ren soon, but right now we need to focus on getting out of here. I wouldn’t put it past the First Order to have trackers installed on all their vehicles. It’s likely they’re looking for that motorcycle you stole. They’ll be here soon.”

At that moment, Poe witnesses something he’ll never forget. 

Rey’s spine straightens, her gaze turning distant and calculating. Smoothly, she pushes herself to standing, all movement suddenly precise and measured, almost feline. He watches, spellbound, as she once again transforms into the terrifying soldier who singlehandedly orchestrated his escape. 

“We have to head for the jungle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please please please let me know what you think! Comments are the best


	11. Go Hunt for Honey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey and Poe... work on their issues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! It's been a hot minute! I'm sorry there has been such a long delay between updates - writing this chapter was a huge challenge (I'm still not sure it's right), and I also started working full time again and had to try and figure out when to squeeze in writing. But I've got it sorted now, so I'm hoping that posting this will help motivate further updates!  
> .  
> .  
> Now edited, lol
> 
> WARNINGS:  
> Rey roughly outlines the details of a past assault  
> Rey experiences PTSD flashbacks/dissociations  
> Mentions of torture/injury

_“You know him, don’t you?”_

Rey dwells on the question long after she’s already answered Poe. _Does_ she know Kylo Ren? When she thought she knew him, he went by a different name. He was… a teacher, a role model – at times almost like a big brother – until he… until he wasn’t. 

Then again, she reasons with herself, the change had been a lot more subtle than that. While she’d initially felt welcomed into his large, multi-tiered, often unrelated familial clan, he’d slowly isolated her further and further until the only thing she ever did was work. With him.

Wet leaves go ignored as they brush her face, leaving trails of droplets that roll down her jaw to her neck. She and the general are traveling on foot – swiftly and silently – away from the abandoned citadel. A sudden, sharp inhale from the man in question behind her, nearly inaudible, wrenches her from her rapidly spiraling thoughts. Thankfully, his soft footfalls remain steady, his breathing quickly evening out. 

There had been enough supplies left at the old base that Rey had been able stabilize Poe and bind up the worst of his wounds. In the small room that she and Rose had briefly shared, the doctor had found enough basic survival gear for two people.

She’d nearly cried with grateful relief when she’d discovered it. Thank the gods for Rose. The woman is a genius. 

They’ve already managed to put several klicks between themselves and the mountain on which the citadel rests. The gear is a comforting weight on her back. Rey carries it all, of course, and hasn’t the general raised holy hell about _that?_

No matter how much noise he’s made, she refuses to budge. Poe is injured. Quite severely. He shouldn’t even be traveling under his condition; there’s no way he’s carrying any weight. Not that he could – she’s strapped his left arm to his torso, and he’d be no use with his right, either. Cracked knuckles. 

The well of strength he’d managed to tap into beneath his doubtless considerable pain is once again impressing her against her will. He’s so strong. All of these rebels seem to be… She only hopes that she can make good on her intention to return him safely to his friends. They might be the only hope left in this miserable world.

Suddenly, she freezes. Far behind them, deep in the jungle, she can hear faint signs that the First Order has found the citadel. Counting on the noise and chaos of the search to cover any faint signs of their escape route, she gestures for the still and silent resistance fighter to follow her. He does. Without hesitation. Trusting her yet again. It never ceases to surprise her.

Trust from patients isn’t unusual to Rey. Trust from a hardened fighter like Poe? It’s something she never could have expected. It – it _hurts._ Like many of their interactions, something about his trust makes her feel raw, open to the air and stinging. _Aware_ in a way she’s never experienced outside of the operating suite. 

Chewing hard on her lip, she ruminates on the rapidly evolving nature of the relationship between her and the soldier behind her. At this point, if nothing else, she has to acknowledge some hard truths. The doctor isn’t just here for Finn anymore. There’s a really good chance that she’s been here for _more than_ Finn since almost the beginning. The Resistance – it’s people – they've left a permanent impression. It’s so much bigger than she could have ever (secretly) hoped. And this man, one of its leaders, he – 

Well, he’s frustrating. Stubborn. Sometimes _infuriatingly_ obtuse. 

But Rey can’t stop herself from trying to figure him out. Damn her curiosity, but he’s a puzzle she’s _dying_ to solve.

Moreover, she feels responsible – is responsible – for the misery that’s been wrought upon his flesh. She can’t just abandon him now. Not when she’s so close to saving him from Kylo Ren. Rey needs to get him back to his comrades, and she has to stay with him long enough to ensure both he and Finn recover. She’ll admit she’s in that deep, at least.

For now, she’s careful not to let him push himself harder than he should. Ideally, she’d rather see a lot less movement from him generally, not that they have much choice. Still, Rey feels no shame in soundly hushing him every time he tries to complain or contribute further. They’ve been trekking in the direction of the general’s choosing for several hours when his repeated insistence that he’s _fine_ finally breaks her calm.

A sudden about-face has him nearly stumbling into her.

“Oh my god!” she whisper-screams at him, “ _I swear you are like child,_ Dameron. Why can’t you just shut up and do as you’re told?”

His dark eyes flash up to meet hers, and for a split-second, she sees it: the anger she’s been expecting since the second she slapped his rifle out of his face. As soon as she finds it, however, it’s gone, replaced by a look that’s more… dangerous. Her body feels rooted to the spot, as though she’s become one with the trees. 

“An eye for an eye, doc,” he replies, voice a low growl. 

She flushes, well aware that her behaviour has been little better than his up until now.

It’s only with the setting sun behind her back, casting light on Poe’s face, that she sees how bloodless and clammy he’s become in the last few kilometers. Clearly, it’s time to stop for the night. With a weary sigh and a roll of her eyes, the young doctor turns away. 

While he sputters in response, Rey has the opportunity to look around for a suitable place to set up camp. Just ten or so meters up the slope above them, a huge, green-covered rock juts out. She begins to hike toward it, ignoring the general’s exhausting questions. The man can’t follow to save his life.

Behind the rock, the earth has settled into a bowl-like hollow. It’s flanked by several sturdy-looking trees. It’s perfect. Turning back to hail her irritating companion, she’s interrupted by the unexpected thrash of vegetation and the scrambling of heavy feet. Ducking around the front of the rock, Rey seizes the front of Poe’s shirt and hauls him as gently as possible up the last bit of the slope. 

They’re pressed chest-to-chest, as she straightens. Why does his weight on her arms make them _ache_ in a way that’s almost... good? Because – because he’s looking at her in _that way_ again. Like he’s trying to examine her, figure her out… No. He wants to _know_ her.

Rey flinches.

Wordlessly, she releases him, turning away to lead him into the hollow, muttering loudly as she does so: “I should have known you’d be a nightmare patient.”

There. Instant distance.

His teeth grind together audibly as he follows her. She can’t help but feel a little bad for her shortness. It is without a doubt that Poe is in significant discomfort. There were no painkillers to be found back at the base beyond topical numbing gel. 

Rey slings the packs off her shoulders, depositing them on the leaf litter beneath their feet. When she turns to look at the general again, he’s already stridden past her, kneeling to fumble with the supplies. He’s just doing it on purpose now. The doctor tilts her face to the sky, clenching her teeth as she counts silently to ten.

It doesn’t work.

“Enough of this!” she hisses furiously, pulling the packs out of reach of his useless fondling. 

“Sit.” She prods his shoulder hard enough that he’s knocked off balance, tipping over onto his ass with a heavy “Oof!”

“Stay! Do. Not. Help. I know what I’m doing, Dameron.”

It’s silent for long enough that it starts to get awkward. Rey can feel her shoulders creep towards her ears. His furious gaze feels like it’s burning a hole directly into her spine. Luckily, it takes very little time for her to stretch a tarp between the three trees. She angles it so that any rain will run off and out of their cozy little nest in the earth: for that is instantly what it becomes once she’s lit a small fire in the shelter of the rock and arranged their packs in such a way that Poe is able to recline in relative comfort.

She flushes, taken aback by the sudden intimacy of the space. Gingerly, she sits down opposite him, the flames flickering between them. Silence lands heavily, weighty and expectant. Rey knows that so much has been left unsaid, but she has no idea how or where to begin, so instead she waits for the axe to fall.

In a way, it’s almost surprising that the general has been able to hold his tongue for as long as he has. Rey would have expected him to begin harassing her for information the second they left the Resistance base. Other than his needling insistence that he’s had ‘had worse,’ he’s actually demonstrated admirable restraint. If she were in his shoes, she would have demanded an explanation long before now. 

She’s still gazing through the flames, lost in thought, when he finally speaks. “So, are we going to talk about it, doc?”

Startled, she glances up at him, hackles already raised. How on earth is she going to talk her way out of this one? One of his eyebrows arches skeptically when she doesn’t immediately respond. 

“You haven’t said a single thing about the cuts on my chest, Skywalker. You’re obviously not stupid. I know you’ve realized exactly what he did to me.”

Each word is like a bomb dropped into the space between them – indiscriminate about who they might harm. She’s shocked, actually. This isn’t quite the direction she’d expected the conversation to turn. An interrogation about her past with Kylo Ren is arguably the more prescient issue, despite the obvious horror of his wounds. Rey gapes at him.

Then, she responds as she always has – defensively. “I may be a doctor, but that doesn’t mean that I’m a therapist,” she barks, her body language dangerous, her words targeted. 

She stops, bites back any more. He doesn’t deserve her indignation. She breathes.

“It’s clear you’ve been tortured. Horrifically. And what he did to you is… unforgiveable. But General… I – I don’t think I have any insight to give you. I have no idea why he’d hurt you this way.”

Poe levels his powerful gaze at her, simultaneously fearless and wounded. “He wanted to flay me alive, Dr. Skywalker,” his tone emotionally exhausted. “That’s how far he was willing to go to find you.”

There it is.

Fuck.

“I…” she starts, but there’s no way to continue. She’s speechless for the first time in her memory. The young doctor looks away, uselessly trying to avoid his scrutiny. Poe’s attention bores into her skin, like he could look right through her and see all of the hurt and the lies and the fear beneath. Her heart speeds up, breaths short. Shit. Familiar panic bubbles up.

The general’s next words are quiet, yet Rey flinches away as though avoiding a blow. “No more work bullshit. _Who are you to him?”_

Rey’s shoulders hunch further, reacting to his implication despite herself. How is it that he sees so much? He waits. The silence goes on but for the crackle of flames and the sounds of the jungle. She chews on her lip so hard she tastes copper.

The strangest thing is that she _wants_ to tell him. She wants to unburden herself to this man, a near-stranger. Not only does she feel that she owes him an explanation, but that instinct is there, once again: he can be trusted.

Quite suddenly, Rey’s muscles unlock, and she crawls around the fire to sit nearer to the general. For reasons she can’t explain, she needs to make her confession to him in a way that feels more private, intimate. A foolish thought, given the fact that the statistical probability of them being overheard is practically nil. Yet she finds herself near enough to the man that she can feel the faintest hint of his breath on her skin.

He looks at her almost like a prey animal – spellbound.

Her throat is dryer than a desert.

“He… I didn’t know him as Kylo Ren,” she begins.

What she’d told him before is true, to an extent. They really had been colleagues under Luke, but that didn’t _begin_ to cover the complexity of their relationship. “We were friends, of a sort. I suppose. Like with Luke, I saw him as someone to look up to – to learn from… He – he wanted something different.”

She can feel the general stiffen next to her, muscles rigid with tension as he listens in silence, for once. “I was… young,” then, almost to herself, “So young..." "When I begin studying with Luke, I was only nineteen and I had… no experience. I didn’t see the signs.”

Rey trails off, momentarily lost in that strange feeling again. She’d felt pride in her own work when he praised her; pleasure at his attention and seeming understanding of her past, her loneliness. And underneath it all, that strange prickling sensation at the back of her neck every time she caught him looking at her for a beat too long. The tiny jolt of alarm very time a casual touch came with _intent._

“He – wanted. He wanted everything I represent – what I can do for him… Wanted me to help his twisted work. Wanted… Me. For himself.”

The doctor clenches her eyes closed, as though losing the ability to see will somehow make Poe disappear. Instead, she’s suddenly plunged back into that moment; the moment her entire world had crumbled for the second time in her young life. A deep ache, like the echo of an injury, throbs across her lower back where the lab bench had dug in as he loomed over her. She’d had bruises for weeks.

Rey isn’t a short woman, but she’d never felt smaller than when faced by Ben Solo.

In her – ignorance, naivety, blind, foolish _hope_ – Rey had gone to confront him, when they’d finally realized where his research was leading him. Rey had been so certain that it was all a misunderstanding, that there was no way he could have betrayed them like that. 

Ben had been working late at the lab. Alone.

“I never saw it coming,” she whispers, her voice barely audible over the small campfire. “He had me cornered before I even knew what was happening.”

Ripples of anger, of _pure rage_ are practically radiating from the soldier at her words – she senses it in the tension of his posture, the change of his breath, the sharp tang of his sweat. Strangely, she feels no more vulnerable than before; she’s somehow certain that the anger is on her behalf, rather than _at her_ for bringing Kylo Ren down on their heads. Poe feels outrage _for_ her. For what was done to her.

It gives her the courage to continue. 

“He – it – he was… insidious. Tried to convince me. C-coerce me.”

All of a sudden, Rey _needs_ to look at him. First the first time in her life, she wants to – no, needs to – be seen. The young doctor’s hazel eyes snap open, her focus immediately drawn to, fixated on his deep brown ones. “It didn’t get violent until I tried to say no.”

She chokes, gagging on the final admission she needs to make, her guilt and disgust at what she’d had to do. Rey’s teeth grind together as Poe’s stare burns into her, barely suppressed ferocity simmering beneath his skin, hotter than the fire barely feet from them. The truth is, she’s hardly holding on – is wavering from here to _there._ With _him._

Quicker than lightning, her hand darts out of its own accord, seizing on to the general’s good shoulder like a lifeline. When the words finally do come, it’s like they’re being broadcast from far, far away. “I’m the reason he wears the mask. Because of what I did to him.”

The sound around her is strange. Muted somehow. Creeping dread is there, too. Cold sweat. Her hands and feet are numb. Then, she hears it, crystal-clear and nightmarish: the wretched, horrific, struggling breaths as Ben clutched at his face, his one good eye staring up at her, the soft chocolate brown no longer inviting and familiar, but alien, vicious, and deeply, deeply betrayed.

“Doc! Dr Skywalker! Doc!” Poe has to several times, but his voice breaks through.

Doctor Skywalker. That’s right. She has a patient to care for.

Oxygen floods her brain as she shudders back into herself. The general’s good arm is gripped around hers, his fingers wrapping almost clear around her bicep. The contact, as soon as she acknowledges it, is _electric._

She stares at him, signals misfiring through her nerve endings. The complicated snarl of sensations and emotions are enough to render her completely immobile for one moment so long it seems to last several lifetimes. The soldier opposite her is equally still, his face now near enough that his breath is hot on her mouth. 

The slightest movement, some hint, some twitch from him suddenly breaks the spell.

Rey jerks herself from his grasp none too gently, wincing with regret as his groan of discomfort chases her retreat back to the opposite side of the small camp.

“There!” she spits, viciously, “Happy?! I don’t want anything to do with him! Ever again. He’s a _monster!_ ” 

Her voice drops, nearly inaudible. “And there’s no escape. Not for me.”


	12. The Arch of My Skull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poe's brain and his heart are NOT on board with each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Thanks for your patience, as always, through my slow process.
> 
> A quick warning that Poe's self-talk in this chapter is pretty negative. Just because he thinks that way about himself doesn't make it true, lol
> 
> The last section of this chapter, written in italics, is NSFW. You're welcome.
> 
> Warnings:  
> Negative self-talk  
> Swearing (always)  
> Speculations on assault severity  
> Nightmare  
> Medium smut
> 
> As always, comments are lovely :)

The jungle is loud, especially at night.

In the 24-hour span of a day, there is no time at which it isn’t positively teeming with life and noise. Insects chirp, frogs croak; nocturnal birds and mammals call out to each other, the eternal discord never pausing. It merely changes its tone and flavour as the hours pass.

One of humanity’s unsung superpowers, however, is its near-infinite ability to ‘get used’ to almost anything. General Dameron had long ago grown accustomed to the wall of noise that comes from the trees. His sleep is more often disturbed by a cacophony of a much more internal nature. Tonight, however, he can’t seem to keep out the external pandemonium, either.

Poe lies awake, listening to the din, unable to escape his thoughts. They’re loud, too, and mostly centered on the young woman asleep on the ground next to him. His mind whirls, unable to settle on anything, constantly swinging back like a boomerang to the fact that Rey Skywalker is lying less than a foot away from him, asleep in his presence for the second time in as many days – nights? 

Time has no meaning in her company.

Rey has revealed more of herself to him tonight than he had ever hoped to learn, and yet all he’s left with are more questions. Why would she offer to help Finn? Why would she trust him, a stranger, with such deeply personal secrets? Why would she _rescue_ him? 

As far as the general is concerned, she has every right (and more) to focus on absolutely nothing but her own survival, and yet here Poe is, living proof of how selfless she is despite her experiences.

His blood runs colder than liquid nitrogen when he thinks about what she’s been subjected to. 

She’d appeared so fragile when she’d outlined Ren’s treachery that it hadn’t felt right to press for details, but its abundantly clear that the doctor had suffered a sexual assault at his hands. Given her remark about the mask, he can surmise she’d been able to fight him off at some point, but he doesn’t want to even consider how far it might have gotten before that. 

Poe’s survived more horrors than any one person deserves, but he’s never been betrayed like that – by someone he trusted. 

He tears his eyes away from the tarp over their heads, blank and black in the darkness, and risks a glance at her. She’d fallen asleep on her side, facing him. In the dull glow of the firelight, he can see that her expression is still blessedly peaceful. Poe shuts his eyes briefly, silently and fervently grateful that she’s sleeping easy. When they open again, he steadfastly directs his gaze back up to the roof of their little shelter.

It hurts too much to look at Rey, for more than one reason.

The first and most literal is that when he tilts his head to look at her, it pulls horribly at the mess of his chest, sharpening the ever-present dull agony to near-intolerable levels. But is also just hurts. Deep in his chest. Below his ribs. It’s a soul-deep hurt.

He’s ashamed. Can he really claim that his behaviour towards Rey has been any different than that monster? No, he hasn’t attempted any violence on her, nor would he ever want to; but he has put her at risk of violence. He’s scared her. More than once. 

And he wants her.

Guilt flushes though him like frigid water running head to toe down his skin. It’s horrifying to think that he might have anything in common with Ren, but he also can’t deny how viscerally he craves Rey. It’d been mere hours ago that he’d allowed himself to watch her sleep, for fuck’s sake. How is that any less of a violation than what Kylo had done?

What the fuck are they going to do now? Now that she’s told him; now that he _knows;_ what can they do? His speeding train of thought screeches to a halt at that. What _can_ they do, now, with the information they have? That’s somewhere to start.

He thinks back over what she’d given him, laying out the facts in his head. The most unshakeable truth, at least in his opinion, is that Dr Skywalker is entirely blameless – the victim – though he hates the way that word sounds on her. As far as he’s concerned, she’s done absolutely nothing to deserve what she’s been through. 

Though she has acted in her own self-interest in the time he’s known her, he’s also witnessed first-hand the way she’ll put her own safety on the line to right what she perceives as wrongs.

Secondly, Rey’s right. She isn’t safe from Kylo Ren. Whatever Ren’s motivations are now – whether he lusts for Rey’s blood or Rey herself – it’s clear to Poe that the First Order’s Supreme Psycho is here for Rey. His focus is on her; she’s in his sights.

Though, given what she’d revealed to the general, he thinks it safe to assume that Ren’s lust runs deeper than blood – although that conclusion makes him literally shudder with rage as he fights not to turn right back around and murder him. That is, if he isn’t already dead from the cave-in. Rey seems certain he’s survived.

That concerning thought leads him right back around to the place his mind keeps ending up: the reason why Rey Skywalker trusts him enough to sleep next to him. He’d offered her something he’d been certain would earn her trust. And he can’t fucking take it back now.

Unbidden, the image of her terrorized expression as she’d told her story crawls insidious like a spider back up to the surface of his brain, reminding him of why he’d made the offer in the first place.

“There’s no escape,” she’d all but whispered, “Not for me.”

The urge to follow her back around the campfire, to pull her into his arms, to comfort her, had violently warred with the intense shame he’d felt at his own covetous desire for her, unknowingly laid out alongside Ren’s twisted agenda. He’d been sick with himself. Still is, to be honest. If she knew, there’s no way she’d trust him like this, feel safe with him like this.

His first instinct (because of course it was) had been to comfort her. “We’ll get you back, doc,” he’d tried to assure, “A soon as we reach the base, I’ll have my best team take you and Rose back to the Red Cross clinic. You’ve done more than enough for us.”

She’d shaken her head in the negative and so he’d shifted, leaning earnestly closer to her even though it pained him terribly. “Getting involved put a target on your back that you don’t need and you don’t deserve,” he’d tried to explain.

The doctor had laughed bitterly at that, and Poe was alarmed to see tears standing in her eyes again as she looked up at him.

“You’re _not listening,_ General.”

He remembers the way her voice had been rough, angry.

“Kylo Ren knew I was in Vietnam before you ever burst into my O.R., Dameron. My guess is the only reason he didn’t get to me at the clinic is because you accidentally happened to get to me first. When he lost access to me there, he set a trap and _tortured_ you for my location.”

She’d sat up a little, turning to face him, to confront him with the truth. “I’m not safe from Kylo Ren at the Red Cross. I’m not safe from him _anywhere._ ”

Like a bullet between the eyes, the hopelessness of her situation had finally hit him. 

And he’d been unable to help stop himself.

 _“Then stay with us,”_ he’d breathed.

Her gaze had been fixed on him, eyes widening with realization.

“Join the Resistance. You need a place to hide; we need a doctor!”

The desperation in his tone had been disgracefully audible. 

“Please,” he’d found himself begging, “ _Please_ come back with me.”

A dawning expression of breathtaking hope had overtaken her, and Poe was helpless in the face of it. 

“I can protect you, Rey,” he’d whispered.

She’d agreed.

Now he’s left pondering whether or not he’d done the right thing. No matter which way he looks at it, he reluctantly comes to the same conclusion again and again: The Resistance is now her only hope of survival, at least until they can find some way to smuggle her out of Vietnam.

Maybe Leia can help.

Of course, Poe had neglected to mention the ‘smuggling her out of Vietnam’ part of his plan to Rey. He somehow doesn’t think that the doctor will react positively to that idea. Having her temporarily join up as their medic is just the means to an end, which is taking her out of harm’s way. At least, that’s what Poe keeps telling himself. 

He can’t help the tiny spark still burning in his chest, the one that he’s felt since he first laid eyes on her. Something in her untold depths calls out to people; she’s special. She’ll become something vital to them, to him if he lets her stay with them for too long.

And he’s still bound and determined to keep that from happening, because… Because he’s already been broken beyond repair, and if something were to happen to her, if she falls victim to that monster because of him, Poe’s not sure he could ever recover. It’s not that she’s come to mean so much to him in so short a time… That’s not it at all. 

It’s because she’s somehow managed to retain this… this _light_ inside her. 

Part of him wants to bask in that light until it burns so bright it scorches away his all of his sins like some ancient saint. Simultaneously, he wants to turn away from it in shame, too marred and blackened to ever deserve to be so visible. If he were the cause that light going out or even dimming, he’d never be able to forgive himself.

Yet the instinct to rejoice is there, too. Even with his extreme aversion to the mere concept of the doctor at risk, he can’t help but feel secretly thrilled that she’ll be with them for a while yet. Almost unwillingly, he imagines her at the new base, blending in seamlessly with the other Resistance fighters. She’ll walk through the square of the empty village deep in the mountain valley, calling out greetings to members of Black Squad. He can clearly picture her seamlessly taking charge of medical operations, eating meals with Finn and Rose. Eating meals with him…

The way the Rey in his fantasies fits into the Resistance like a piece of a puzzle – he knows that it would be like that in real life if she stays and its… a beautiful vision, but nothing more than that. He stares at the darkened cover above, willing it to provide him with some kind of escape from the tangled web he’s blithely crawled into. First it had been for the sake of his best friend, and then he’d stayed: snarling, knotting, and weaving himself deeper until he’s not sure he’ll ever break away. 

Does he even really want to?

At least he can rest easy knowing that, for the moment, she’s safe.

She’s safe.

She’s sleeping next to him, and she’s safe. 

Poe finally drops off to sleep with that comforting thought.

-

_When he opens his eyes, it’s hot and muggy – which is nothing new – but there is something indefinably different about the quality of the air and the light. He looks up to dappled sunlight slanting across the ceiling above him. What’s so surprising to him is that the plaster that slowly comes into focus is not what he’d expected to wake up to._

_For a powerfully strange moment, he’s completely disoriented, but then the soft scent of mangoes drifts in on the breeze, and he remembers. Fighting off a contented grin, Poe rolls over to his side and throws the sheet off his legs. He’s wearing nothing but boxer briefs, the moisture in the air clinging to his skin in a way that is deeply familiar as he pushes himself up to sit on the edge of the bed, the soles of both feet landing on the warm wooden floor._

_The bedroom around him is cozy and lived-in, a familiar clutter of knick-knacks, potted plants, and books. The walls are punctuated by numerous windows, open wide with nothing but thin screens between him and the elements. He gazes out the large window that takes up almost the entire wall next to the bed, appreciating the view he’s looked at for the happiest months of his life._

_Overlooking a deep and tranquil caldera lake, they’d built their house on the verdant, rising slope of the crater. Vibrant green leaves hang heavily around the house and Poe listens to them rustle as he picks up on the nearly silent footsteps approaching their room from the veranda, even over the distant calls of birds and monkeys. He perks up at the faint sound._

_Grin broadening into a smile, he looks towards the screen door expectantly, waiting with bated breath for her, even after all this time._

_She doesn’t disappoint._

_Rey pushes through the door with a massive armful of multicoloured flowers, already talking about what they should have for breakfast. He can barely see her face for all of the foliage, oranges, yellows and reds mingled with glimpses of creamy skin and glossy hair. Flashes of her stunning smile hit until he feels punch-drunk._

_She’s still listing possible menu items. Of course, she would know he’s already awake. Rey somehow always knows._

_Poe stands, wrapping his hands gently around her upper arms as he stops her rapid-fire speech with a kiss._

_“Morning, Sunshine,” he murmurs against her mouth when he pulls back just a little._

_“Morning!” She giggles as the flowers tickle her face, leaving a bright smear of vibrant orange pollen across her freckled cheek._

_He wants it to stay there forever._

_He wants her to stay forever. He tells her so._

_“Of course, I’ll stay forever…” she breathes, dropping the fragrant blossoms to cascade around their feet so she can grab a hold of him and kiss him properly._

_Poe dives into the kiss like he and Rey sometimes dive into the cool of the moonlit lake underneath billions of stars. Every single time he kisses her, it makes him feel untethered, like he would feel at zero gravity. He grasps her hips, pulling her body flush to his. She responds in kind, inviting him to devour her as she always does, like she needs it as much as he needs her._

_Their lips break apart for a gasp of air; she sighs out in pleasure and_ Christ _he’ll never get tired of hearing her. Poe clutches young woman to him hard, ducking in to capture her mouth again. He’s probably kissed her thousands of times by now, but tasting her never fails to wake him up, make him feel alive. And hungry._

_As her fingers move to snarl tightly into his curls, his hands find their way down her hips and around behind to cup her firm ass cheeks in both hands, squeezing harder when she_ squeaks _at the feeling. Curling his fingers under her ass, he tugs her up, growling with satisfaction when she takes the hint and hops into his arms, easily circling his hips with her strong thighs._

_Her core is astonishingly hot as she automatically grinds against his rapidly swelling length, tangible even through her shorts and his underwear. Poe hisses as her blunt nails bite into his scalp, the fiery passion that constantly boils beneath her skin unleashed like a tornado every time they touch. She nips sharply at his lower lip before working her way down his neck, biting bruises into his skin._

_Her hands come around to cup his jaw as he slides one palm up her spine to grip the nape of her neck. The ring she wears on her left hand scrapes thrillingly against his stubble as she forces their mouths back together in a vicious kiss – more teeth than tongue. Poe moans helplessly, consumed by her willingly, offering himself up to the flames with no regret._

_Petals crush beneath their feet as he stumbles backward, tumbling to the unmade bed with the incredible woman in his arms. He lands on his back, Rey deliciously draped atop him, her slight weight seeming to sink into him like sugar dissolving into coffee._

_“Too – mm – too many clothes – huh – sweetheart,” he growls between heated kisses, trying to get his fingers under her brief little jean shorts while she writhes and wriggles atop him._

_“What about – ah! – breakfast?” Rey asks, but without any real heat._

__“Later,” _Poe snarls, rolling until she’s trapped beneath him, wrists shackled by his hands above her head._

_She tilts her head coyly, looking up at him with a dangerously mischievous glint in her eyes. Breath catches in his throat. Rey is absolutely stunning. Cheeks rosy pink, lips parted and glistening, hair already wild from his fingers. She practically glows she’s so beautiful._

_Her hazel eyes dance wickedly as she arches up into him, teasing, “Are you sure there’s nothing that you’re hungry for?”_

_An embarrassingly desperate noise issues from his chest at the question, and Rey laughs throatily. His arousal already borders on painful, prompting a sharp hiss from his lips and the brutal tightening of his grip on her wrists. “I can think of a few things,” he pants, licking into her mouth as he deftly undoes the button of her jean shorts, sliding his fingers inside._

_Without warning, Rey’s entire body tenses in his grip._

_Something’s wrong._

_He rips his mouth away from her, horrified to see that somehow, her face has become sallow, drenched in sweat and bloody from a split lip, eyebrow, and a nasty gash on her scalp that has gore matting in her chestnut hair._

_“Rey?” he gasps, unable to believe his eyes, unable to say anything else; frozen in shock._

_Poe can see her mouth trying to form the word, blood bubbling at her lips as she mouths his name, but no sound comes aside from the wet bubbling of blood._

-

The general jolts awake.

Her face hovers into view above him, expression obscured by early morning dark.

“Time to go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a new story coming up in the next week or so (FBI Agent!Poe and Reporter!Rey) so please keep an eye out for it and let me know what you think! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter title from "Elk.Blood.Heart" by All Them Witches.
> 
> Please let me know what you think!


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